by Eric Mayer
Cornelia swung her lantern back and forth as she walked slowly along the ridge overlooking the sea. The ridge remained faintly visible, although dips and hollows were in midnight darkness.
“Over there! Look!”
She peered in the direction Peter indicated. “It’s only a bush.”
Age had robbed John’s former servant of much of his eyesight, although he wouldn’t admit it. He was as likely to fall into a hole as to help Cornelia find his lost sheep, but pride prevented him from staying back at his house, as Cornelia well knew.
“Hypatia had no business insisting I ask you to come out tonight, mistress,” Peter said. “I told her I could search by the sea while she looked nearer the road.”
“I’m glad to help, Peter. We’re neighbors, after all.”
“I don’t know how it happened. I put the sheep out to pasture just before sunrise. It’s been so dry, the morning dew makes the grass more palatable. She must have slipped away without my noticing. I would have started searching sooner but I hoped she’d return safely on her own.”
The mention of safe return made Cornelia think about John, who had not yet returned. Perhaps that was good news, meaning he had arrived at Rome without incident.
“When Hypatia got back from the market, did she mention anything about ships arriving from Rome?”
“No, mistress. There has been no news from there. I wish I had accompanied the Lord Chamberlain.”
“You have your own place to look after—and a wife.” If the truth were told, Hypatia was more and more looking after her considerably older husband. It was only right. Cornelia would have done the same for John. She hoped she would never have to take care of him, not for her own sake but for his.
They continued along the ridge as sky and sea darkened. The lights on a few scattered ships floated in the blackness, stars that had strayed from the flock. Cornelia shone her lantern under bushes and into depressions.
“I hate to think of the Lord Chamberlain off by himself,” Peter said. “So far away. And who knows what kind of trouble Felix is drawing him into?”
“He was with Marius, remember? And by now he’s with Felix. Those two have been through a lot together.” Not that Cornelia hadn’t worried over each new adventure.
“I have prayed for him.”
“We can’t do anything to help John tonight. Let’s think about finding your sheep, Peter.”
“I prayed for the sheep too. Naturally.”
It did not strike Cornelia as at all natural to pray for a sheep. How casually Christians addressed their god about trivialities. She would never have dared trouble the Goddess about a stray sheep nor even weightier matters unless accompanied by an offering.
It was full night by the time their search to and fro brought them to the ruined temple. Peter rested on a fallen column and Cornelia directed her lantern light round the shadowy remains.
A pair of glowing eyes stared at her.
She let out an involuntary cry.
By the time Peter stumbled to her side the eyes were gone but his lantern illuminated the bloody carcass of a sheep. “Wolves!”
As they left an owl called. Turning, Cornelia saw it silhouetted dimly against the stars, perched on a remaining part of what had been the temple’s roof.
According to country folk, that was a harbinger of death.
Chapter Twenty-eight
“According to your reports, Viteric, I can only conclude the Lord Chamberlain is in Rome for pleasure and to visit famous places.” General Diogenes leaned his elbows on the balustrade of his command post and stared out into the predawn darkness. “Let’s see, his itinerary has included the Circus Maximus and Saint Minias’ Church, Hadrian’s mausoleum and, naturally, a brothel. No traveler leaves Rome without going to a brothel.”
“I’m sure he has logical reasons for all of his excursions, sir.”
“Are you? Well, people will believe what they wish to be true.”
“And you believe he is not to be trusted.” Viteric made no attempt to conceal his irritation. He had come to respect John. He was tired of shadowing the former Lord Chamberlain because of Diogenes’ unfounded suspicions. There was more urgent work to be done. Beyond the walls the night was filled by lights from the besieging army’s camp fires, lamps, and torches. The landscape might have been the floor of an Olympian temple, the starry vault above supported on countless glowing pillars of smoke.
“You say he’s been to the papal residence again. To talk to that troublemaker Leon, I suppose. Unless he was just there to see the sights. Are you certain he didn’t notice you?”
“I kept a good distance.”
“Which is why you lost him after he entered the tower at the wall. The Lord Chamberlain is visiting strange places in his search for word of Felix. If that is indeed what he’s up to.”
“To find a rabbit, one should look in rabbit holes, sir.”
Diogenes shook his head. “Nobody who’s met Felix would describe him as a rabbit, and a man who chases two rabbits will catch neither.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s an old saying.”
“Would it not be a plan, sir, to assign an extra man or two to keep watch on the Lord Chamberlain’s lodgings during the night hours?”
“It would take more than one man to watch every possible exit. Doors, windows, over the roof, and for all I know, tunneling out or disguising himself! Not to mention while their arrival could be presented as safeguarding an imperial emissary, he would be aware of the real reason they are there.”
“Yes, for the same reason I am, as he well knows.”
“No matter. By this time my messenger will be almost to Constantinople if he hasn’t arrived yet. Let the Lord Chamberlain go where he will for now; we’ll soon have the truth of the matter. Meantime, continue to keep an eye on him—even if only a half-blind eye.”
Viteric bristled. “Sir, he is extremely adept at—”
“He’s a slippery eel. I remember a saying of my father’s. He said you can get a hold of an eel’s tail but that doesn’t mean he’s caught.”
“And what are my orders if he slips out of my grasp?”
“Our pagan ancestors claimed the gods favored men of action, but in my experience sitting idle in a corner with one’s ears open can be more valuable. So if you lose the Lord Chamberlain return to his house and listen to what the servants are telling each other.”
Viteric took his leave. Walking to John’s lodgings, he did his best to digest the rabbit and eel stew of advice offered by his superior. In his opinion, old sayings were offered as answers by those who had no answers.
Diogenes might have been right about the value of simply listening, but soon after Viteric entered the kitchen he could tell it would be impossible this morning. No one was talking.
Those sitting at the table were ignoring each other, staring at their plates or into the far corners of the room as they ate. Eutuchyus had provided bread and boiled eggs for the morning meal, and was consuming his own, accompanied by angry looks at John. The boy Julius displayed a surly expression and attacked his food rather than eating it, and Clementia appeared even angrier than Eutuchyus, bolting her meal in a most unladylike manner before jumping to her feet. “You don’t mind if I leave immediately, Lord Chamberlain? No, of course you don’t!”
The only response to Viteric’s arrival was a curt nod from John, so he wandered out into the garden and watched the sky begin to lighten.
After a short time Julius came slinking past and Viteric grabbed his arm. “Why is everyone in a foul humor this morning?”
Julius pulled away and glared up at him. “Eutuchyus is angry because John didn’t believe him when he claimed I was looking through Clementia’s belongings. I don’t know why Clementia’s so annoyed. Perhaps she’s angry at Eutuchyus and me both, because she doesn’t know whic
h of us was the culprit.”
“And you?”
“I’m angry because Eutuchyus wants me out of the house.”
“Surely that decision is the Lord Chamberlain’s?”
“Yes, but who knows what Eutuchyus might get up to when nobody’s looking?”
Viteric watched the boy stalk off. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He wasn’t much of a spy. He couldn’t even keep track of what was happening under John’s roof. Perhaps he should put in a request to be returned to duties of a more military nature.
It occurred to him that he had let John out of his sight for too long. As he started back into the house a dark shape moved silently under the garden’s peristyle. He thought the Lord Chamberlain was trying to leave unobserved again.
Instead John stepped into the garden and walked over to him. “Viteric. Come with me, we are off to the market.”
John and Viteric climbed the Esquiline Hill to the gate in the old city wall. Time had reduced the ancient marketplace to a patch of wasteland but merchants continued to sell their goods there. Numerous structures had been partly demolished or burnt down. The sellers huddled in the shelter of tottering walls against the wind, their offerings laid out on the ground. Feral cats lurked among the tall grass growing against the shells of what had once been prosperous shops, and a small fire in a dry fountain warmed two women whose raucous shouts announced to passersby they had fine jewelry for sale.
Poorly clad children dodged in and out among the thin crowd, hands extended for charitable contributions to no avail. Viteric and John soon attracted several urchins, who scuttled away when Viteric scowled and laid his hand on his sword.
“It’s a fair distance for Maxima to walk,” John remarked, having said very little during their journey.
“Surely the master of the house shouldn’t have to check if the fish are fresh or haggle over eggs, let alone carry them back for his own meal?”
John smiled slightly. “I am here to fish and I may even hatch something.”
The goods on sale could be divided into two categories: vegetables of poor quality and everything else that could possibly be purchased or exchanged for something more to the sellers’ taste, edible or not. Everything else included every conceivable type of household item, probably stolen from unoccupied homes.
It suddenly struck John that he had just passed by a familiar face. Turning, he scanned the merchants. A gray-haired woman stood beside a cloth on which sat a pitiful collection of chipped lamps, dented cups, and badly tarnished plates.
John walked back to her. “Aren’t you Aurelius’ wife? We met not long ago.”
“So you recognize me, after all, sir.” He smile was forlorn, her voice faint. As at their first meeting she gave the impression of having recently returned from the catacombs, not from visiting but from internment. “Have you found my daughter’s murderer yet? No, I can see you haven’t. Why would a man such as yourself waste his time seeking justice for a poor girl?”
“I have been investigating. Your daughter hasn’t been forgotten.”
“A good life. She promised us a good life. And now look at me, forced to humiliate myself, selling goods to those who consider themselves my betters.”
John thought that anyone who needed a dented cup or a chipped lamp could not be very much better than anyone else. He was about to reply when Viteric tugged at his elbow.
“Look, sir. Those two are selling military equipment.” Viteric couldn’t conceal his disgust.
John muttered a goodbye to Aurelius’ wife and followed Viteric, who was striding in the direction of the malefactors.
John’s hand on Viteric’s arm restrained him from confronting them. “Not now. Notify Diogenes when you next report,” he said in an undertone as they walked past without a glance at the swords and spears shining in inviting fashion in the early morning sun. They pretended not to hear the vilification the duo muttered just loud enough to be heard, and soon fading out of earshot.
John halted in front of a pedestal engraved with the name of the emperor Trajan. Rather than his statue, it now supported a variety of game which, like the emperor, were dead, but not for so long. “Ah, here’s what we want. These two charming ladies are selling rabbits.”
The younger of the women simpered prettily at John’s compliment. She was in the last stages of pregnancy. “’ere you are, sir, freshest rabbits in Rome. The morning dew was on their last meal.”
John asked the price. It was high. “In Constantinople you can buy a wild boar for that! However, I’ll pay it if you throw in some information along with the rabbits. Were you in the city when General Conon was in charge of the garrison?”
The young woman gave a raucous laugh. “Oh, ’im! I got to know several of ’is soldiers but not ’im personally. Just as well ’cos ’e was bad luck on two legs, Conon was.”
The older woman, by her looks clearly the mother of the other, chimed in. “That’s right, sir. It was ’im not paying ’is soldiers what led to a lot of people who ’ad nothing to do with fighting getting killed.”
“Terrible, it was,” agreed the daughter. “Only one servant escaped, but all the others had their throats cut, poor things. Oh, I was glad I’d nothing to do with ’im.”
“Did either of you know anyone in Conon’s household?” John asked the women.
“Yes. Gabriella. She was ’is cook.” The mother looked down thoughtfully at the game on the pedestal. “She told us ’e ’ad a fondness for rabbit and often bought them from us. She also sold things ’ere from time to time. Claimed Conon never noticed when bread or fruit disappeared from the kitchen.”
“What happened to her?”
“Last I ’eard she was working in the fields. Serves ’er right too. It’s a lot ’arder growing food than stealing it to sell!”
The fields the rabbit-seller described were on the opposite side of the city near the Tiber. Totila’s troops had torched the wooden tenements crowded together there, reducing the area to the empty plain it had been before Rome was founded. The Goths had done the Romans a favor. Now that the much-shrunken population was under siege, tillable land inside the walls was more valuable than tenements.
Scattered signs of civilization remained. John and Viteric made their way through a square surrounded by fire-blackened buildings. Despite the destruction, a statue of Plato stood untouched, the philosopher’s sole student a raven perched on his head. The bird made John think of the fresco at the church of Saint Minias. And something else.
Whatever the stray thought had been, it fled as the raven rose croaking into the sky.
They were at the edge of a field planted with wheat. A heavyset man with a round, red face and a dubious expression stood staring at them, his gaze moving from John to Viteric and the rabbits he carried.
Exchanging greetings with the two arrivals, the gazer spoke in a gloomy voice concerning his hopes for the harvest, adding “Though even at its best t’will be nothing compared to the crops I grew. The planting was wrong, you see, it was done too soon for the best results.”
“You sound knowledgeable,” John observed.
“I oversaw a farm for years. I’m lucky to be standing here today to tell you. When the Goths arrived I was barely able to get away and with nothing but the tunic on my back. Happy to say I’ve killed a few of the swine in the last couple of assaults and hope to do the same in future.”
“It’s good work,” Viteric remarked, leaving open whether he meant growing crops, killing Goths, or both.
“Indeed,” came the reply. “You look like men with questions to ask. What are they?”
“I am looking for a woman,” John said. “General Conon’s cook at the time he was murdered by his troops. Gabriella. I’ve been told she’s working in the fields.”
“Oh, her. Yes, I’ve heard of her. She ran off with her man, and both of them joined the Goth
s.” He spat on the ground. “Didn’t like getting her hands dirty, so it’s said, so when they heard from a friend who’d already gone over to the other side there was work for a camp cook, off they went. I suppose both men are fighting for the Goths now. Traitorous bastards, all three of them.”
“‘Off they went,’ you say. I wouldn’t have thought it was easy to get in and out of the city, over the walls and past all the guards. Totila’s army hasn’t managed yet,” John observed.
“A whole army, that’s different. Haven’t you heard of the Twisted Wall?”
“I’m new to the city. Is it a place where people can leave?”
The farmer’s eyes narrowed. “You two wouldn’t be thinking about going over to the Goths?”
Viteric glared at the man. “Hardly! There’s plenty of work on this side of the wall!”
“If you don’t mind not being paid, or so I’ve been told,” the other snapped.
“Tell me about this Twisted Wall,” John intervened. “Where is it?”
“It’s on the north side of the city, by the Flaminian Gate, not far from the river. The wall split open about halfway down in ancient times. Seems the foundation wasn’t right. Part of that stretch of wall leans forward. It’s a simple matter to climb up to the gap and pass through.”
“Why hasn’t it been repaired?” John asked.
“There’s no need. In fact, the first time the Goths besieged the city more than ten years ago, General Belisarius wanted to make repairs but the populace wouldn’t allow it. You see, it’s said the apostle Peter promised the Romans that he would defend the city at that spot. Rebuilding would be an insult to him. Who needs a wall when a saint’s protecting you? I don’t suppose Peter cares whether a few Romans go over to the Goths.”
“That might explain why Diogenes has left part of the northern wall undermanned,” Viteric remarked. “He probably heard that tale from Archdeacon Leon. There’s not much chance of an attack from the north anyway. There’s only a small encampment up there, not what I’d call a fighting force.”
