Ten for Dying (John the Lord Chamberlain Book 10)

by Mary Reed

  “You’re silent,” Gordia snapped. “Have I helped you in any way or have you deepened my misery for no reason?”

  “This is valuable information,” Anatolius told her. He would need to get in touch with Felix and pass it on to him. “I will not inconvenience you further.”

  “Thank you. I understand you are a lawyer. There are things that need to be taken care of with regard to my late husband’s estate. If you would be so good as to return next week…”

  Chapter Fifty

  Following Isis’ pronouncement of doom Felix fled blindly out into the streets.

  Leprosy! Already it had been neglected for…how long had it been since he’d noticed the spots on his face and hands?

  He was sure he had washed himself sufficiently after his encounter with the leprous beggar in the alleyway but obviously he hadn’t. Now the filthy disease was eating away at him. He was rotting like a corpse. That’s what happened to lepers, wasn’t it? He would end his days a pariah, alive but as good as dead.

  What did he care if he was apprehended wandering about? Before it came to that he’d give himself up to Justinian. Better an axe or a noose end his suffering quickly. The imperial torturers wouldn’t dare to work on a leper, would they?

  He prayed to Mithra and several other gods he had learned about during his days in Constantinople, including—at the sight of a feral cat crossing his path—the Egyptian deity Bast.

  “Please let this be a nightmare,” he prayed. “Let me wake up!”

  Every god answered his prayer. And every answer was the same. No.

  Then he found himself in front of a church.

  From the open doors came the sweet smell of incense.

  He entered and walked through diffused shafts of light falling through the tall windows.

  Tears ran down his cheeks and into his beard. The incense must be irritating them.

  He pulled his cross out and pressed it to his lips, as he had seen Christians do, and fell to his knees and prayed to Anastasia’s god.

  His head cleared. The miasma of unreality which had surrounded him began to evaporate. He was aware of other worshipers kneeling and murmuring on either side of him and suddenly he flushed with humiliation.

  What was he doing? A military man on his knees, blubbering?

  He felt a hand on his shoulder.

  He tensed, turned, expecting to see one of Narse’s guards. Instead an elderly priest looked down at him.

  “You are in distress, my son.”

  Felix nodded.

  “What troubles you? I will add my prayers to your own.”

  Felix displayed the back of a spotted hand. “You shouldn’t touch me. I am unclean.”

  The priest scowled and then smiled benignly. “Those are not the marks of a leper.”

  “But I was told—”

  “I have ministered to enough poor souls in my lifetime to know a leper when I see one.”

  Felix stood up, still clutching his cross. It felt hot in his big fist.

  “Do not look so astonished,” the priest told him. “I have not healed you. Thank the Lord that you do not have leprosy.”

  Felix went out into the sunlight. How long had he been roaming the city out of his wits with horror? He was lucky Narse’s men hadn’t found him.

  Yes, lucky. Thanks be to Fortuna.

  ***

  Felix sat in the shadows in the back of a dingy and dimly lit tavern nursing a single cup of wine, deciding where to go next. He examined the spots on his hand. Was it true that he didn’t have leprosy? It would be the first thing that had gone right in the past week.

  He had conflicting diagnoses from a former prostitute and a priest. Who should he believe? Doubtless the priest had seen more prostitutes than Isis. In the stories Anastasia insisted he read, Jesus had forever been healing lepers.

  Could Isis have been correct? Might the Christian god have healed Felix there in the church?

  No, the blotches looked no different than they had when Isis had become hysterical over them.

  It seemed out of character. But so was her conversion to Christianity. Well, she was getting old. Felix was getting old. He reached inside his tunic and pulled out the cross, intending to tear it off and toss it away. Then he remembered Anastasia had given it to him and refrained.

  Things had been simpler when he was young. They had been better. He would gladly give up his high position to be Emperor Justin’s bodyguard again.

  Justin, now there was a man. He walked through the gates of Constantinople with dirt under his fingernails, a peasant farmer, and he died an emperor.

  Over the years it had passed through Felix’s mind that, if circumstances allowed, he might follow in Justin’s path. But he was loyal to Justinian—weak and unwarlike as the current emperor was—and time went by so quickly. Anastasia had made him feel like a youth again. She had rekindled what he had thought were the dead embers of his ambitions.

  Purposefully?

  She had denied any desire to use Felix but why else would Theodora’s sister have entangled herself with him?

  What bothered him most was how she had kept her relationship to the late empress a secret. No matter her excuses, could he really trust her, knowing she had deceived him from the start?

  He wished he could, but at the palace wishful thinking could get you killed.

  In his dark corner Felix tensed as he saw a large youth sporting the hairstyle of a Blue enter the tavern. After a moment or two, when the youth gave no indication he was there for anything but a drink, Felix relaxed. He had to fear every Blue he saw, and every guard and member of the urban watch, not to mention whoever Narses and Porphyrius, and perhaps others besides, had hired to work incognito.

  Maybe he had even to fear donkeys, if Anastasia was right and his donkey might betray him.

  He remembered her coming into the bath, telling him about Antonina’s servant, who saw demons and had thrown himself over the sea wall. He had wondered vaguely at the time if the man could have had some connection with the demons who had stolen the holy shroud. And if Antonina could have had some interest in relics.

  Anastasia knew her. Might Anastasia also have some interest in relics?

  But Anastasia could hardly be working with Antonina. Clearly Anastasia hoped that Germanus would supplant Antonina’s Belisarius as Justinian’s chief general. She was counting on Felix being given a command by Germanus.

  And maybe counting on him being placed a step away from the throne.

  Or so he imagined.

  But then again, Anastasia, as Antonina’s friend, might have agreed to spy on Felix in hopes of discovering what Germanus was planning.

  More than one strand of this sticky web in which Felix found himself struggling led back to Antonina. He needed to talk to her. But how could he? Especially considering their past history, brief as that history had been.

  He took another sip of his wine. The blemishes on the back of his hand which had so frightened him caught his attention.

  Ah. There was his answer.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  “Did Anastasia send you to me, Felix?” Antonina smiled coldly. “And if so, why?”

  “She didn’t,” Felix said, “but I know you are a friend of hers and she wanted to ask you for a cure for my, er, skin problem…but, after all, a man must make his own decisions about these things. So I said I would think about it, and I only just decided to, um, well…do you have anything suitable?”

  Now that he was face-to-face with the woman, Felix had no idea how he was going to question her.

  Antonina laughed. “Oh, Felix, you’re trying to pretend you have forgotten our little tryst in the Hall of Nineteen Couches, aren’t you?”

  Felix looked at the floor and said nothing. His broad frame was perched on a delicate gilded chair, suited to the ari
stocratic ladies Antonina normally entertained.

  She bent, gave his beard a playful tug and whispered in his ear. “Surely you haven’t forgotten? I would be insulted if you had. But it will remain our little secret.”

  Her warm breath was as welcome to him as a fiery gust from the gates of Hell. “I haven’t come here to resume our…uh…I’m just following Anastasia’s advice. I take it she’s a very good friend of yours.”

  “You’re here to interrogate me about your lady love then? Not very gallant.”

  “No, certainly not. I wouldn’t presume to pry. It’s this hand, as I told you.”

  He held it up for her inspection.

  “These little red patches? That’s what worries you?”

  He nodded and drew his hand away quickly. “I’ve been told it’s serious.”

  Antonina straightened. “I have a remedy for any complaint of the skin.” She went out of the room.

  Felix tried to think. She was already suspicious. And why not? He had no real business showing up here. He was surprised, and unnerved that she had even recalled their encounter so many years, and so many liaisons, ago.

  Antonina returned with an alabaster pot shaped as a miniature head of a woman whose hair was dressed in the classical Greek style.

  Felix shuddered as she plucked off the head. The action reminded him too much of possibilities awaiting him. The contents of the pot proved to be a greasy ointment.

  “The pot is valuable enough,” Antonina remarked, “but the ointment more valuable still. It’s made from the juice of Jove’s beard mixed with rendered fat, so use it quickly before its virtues are dispersed. Many court ladies have employed it for skin eruptions, but I do believe you’re the first military man.” Giving him a crooked smile, she handed the pot to Felix.

  He set it on his knees and clumsily smeared part of the contents on his lumpy patches. It made his skin tingle unpleasantly.

  “I’ll give you more to take with you but don’t let Anastasia see it or she will be jealous,” Antonina remarked. “I know about the difficulty in which you find yourself, Felix. Aside from your blemishes, that is. My advice is to leave the city immediately so you won’t risk compromising Anastasia. And when I say immediately, I mean as soon as you have had a cup of wine.”

  “Leave the city? On foot? I don’t think—”

  “I shall give you a horse for Anastasia’s sake. You can always go to Greece and take shelter with the former Lord Chamberlain. Stay here until evening. Darkness will cover your shall we say strategic retreat?”

  Cowardly retreat, Felix thought. Did he have a choice? And why should she care if he stayed or fled, unless she were involved in the affair in some way?

  It again occurred to him that Anastasia might be working with the enemies of Germanus, spying on Felix, a key ally of Germanus. Did he dare trust Anastasia any longer? How he could he possibly sort it out, while pursued by both the emperor and Porphyrius? Maybe he should take Antonina’s offer, escape while he still could.

  He immediately chided himself. He had too much pride to run away and it was unworthy of him to mistrust Anastasia. What reason had she ever given him to doubt her?

  ***

  A few streets away Anastasia rode behind the closed curtains of one of the less gaudy imperial carriages, unaware she was accompanied by Dedi, who, clinging to the back of the conveyance, prayed he would neither fall off nor be discovered.

  Passersby glanced with curiosity as the carriage clattered past, wondering what elevated personage might be concealed and for what reason an aristocrat or high official was out and about in the city. And if there was a strange, little man hanging onto the back of the carriage, what business was it of theirs? The wealthy and powerful were often given to peculiar whims. On the other hand, if the twisted little creature was unknown to the passenger and up to no good…well, what business was it of theirs?

  Dedi’s perch was less than salubrious. He was coated with dust churned up by the hooves of the horses’ and the carriage wheels. It gave his shriveled face a mummy-like appearance. He suppressed a cough, felt grit in his mouth, and spit mud.

  Nevertheless, further from the palace he would have a better chance of escaping with whatever he managed to pilfer from her.

  He needed a token from her to control her sister.

  Although he had managed to recall Theodora she had chosen to fly to Antonina rather than subject herself to Dedi’s will. He had no way of knowing why. As soon as he glimpsed the empress through the window Dedi had ducked away to avoid detection. Antonina was well-versed in magick herself and might have detected his presence. No doubt she intended to employ Theodora’s reanimated shade for her own purposes.

  The carriage hit a rut and the jolt nearly threw Dedi into the street. He tightened his grip. Darkness had fallen. He could see they were approaching the Church of the Holy Apostles because of the light pouring from its windows. The carriage came to a halt behind the building.

  How odd. Why would Anastasia be carrying a package to the church?

  Sticking his head around the side of the carriage he recognized the priest, Basilius, standing in the grounds, apparently waiting. When Anastasia alighted from the carriage he came over to greet her.

  “You have brought me something, as you promised?” Dedi heard Basilius ask.

  The carriage had drawn up in front of Theodora’s mausoleum. Dedi dropped quietly to the ground and crept underneath the carriage, out of sight of the driver but nearer to where Anastasia stood with Basilius.

  Anastasia presented the package to the priest. “A small offering for the church. A chalice specially blessed by certain clergy in whom Theodora took a particular interest.”

  Basilius looked at the package suspiciously. “You don’t mean those heretics of hers?”

  “Surely you would not decline a tribute to the late empress?”

  “No. Certainly not.” He took the package gingerly as if it were filthy.

  Dedi was studying Anastasia carefully. His mouth widened in a gleeful grin. Tonight was one of particular good fortune, for Anastasia was wearing a necklace of garnets and silver he knew had once belonged to Theodora, and indeed had been a favorite of hers.

  He sprang from beneath the carriage, grabbed the necklace, snapped its chain, and was gone into the night before either Anastasia or Basilius could do more than gasp in surprise and horror.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Felix lay on a red-upholstered couch pinned down by the dark-eyed glare of a life-sized portrait of the late empress. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep while waiting for evening. In fact, he had intended to use Antonina’s invitation to linger to devise some method of questioning her further. But exhaustion had overtaken him. Unless…his gaze fell on his empty wine cup. Unless Antonina had given him something to help him sleep.

  He felt his chest tighten and his heart beat faster. Though he had looked away he could sense the painted empress staring at him. Theodora’s image brought back the same wary reactions that her physical presence had caused. The aura of menace that had accompanied her alive seemed to emanate from the colored plaster. In reality the aura only existed in Felix’s mind and in the minds of many at the palace and in the city. Thus the empress lived on in the fear she had struck into those who had known her. Felix knew that very well, and yet…

  He jumped at the touch of a hand on his shoulder.

  “You are awake.” Antonina perched on the edge of the couch. “I gave you a little potion to help you relax. You’ve slept a long time. It will be dawn soon.”

  How could he have been so stupid as to drink anything Antonina had offered him? Then again, he had used the potions and ointments Anastasia had obtained from her friend. Maybe Antonina had only wanted to help him. He didn’t remember. That frightened him.

  He sat up. The garden visible through the window was brightly lit. But no, that
was also a painting.

  “Why did you come here, Felix?”

  He looked down at his hands, glistening in places with ointment. “I explained…”

  “You don’t think I believe you dared to come here because you had some eruptions on your skin, do you?”

  “Some eruptions? Is that what you call leprosy?”

  Antonina laughed unpleasantly. “Leprosy? Do you think I’m a fool?”

  “I was told it was leprosy.”

  “By who? A fool?”

  “No.” Felix had never thought of Isis as a fool. He had concluded she had been mistaken because she was upset, or as a result of age. Or had she intended to get rid of Felix quickly by frightening him?

  “You did hope to interrogate me, didn’t you?” Antonina said.

  “What would I want to interrogate you about?”

  “Really, Felix. Can’t you do better than that?” She looked fixedly at him. Her blue eyes resembled shining cutting tools, torture instruments ready to slice him wide open and lay bare every vein and sinew of any secret he might have inside his body.

  “I did wonder about your servant, Tychon. Anastasia told me the poor fellow threw himself over the sea wall. My own head servant has just vanished, you see.”

  Her next remark caught him by surprise. “How much do you know about the theft of the Virgin’s shroud, Felix?”

  He tried not to look startled. Did she realize that was what had brought him here? And did that imply she had a connection to the matter? “What do you mean? Why do you want to know?”

  Antonina smiled. “Don’t look so shocked. Anastasia told me about your investigation. Naturally I am interested. Her sister’s tomb, my dear friend’s tomb, was desecrated.” She nodded in the direction of the painted Theodora. Felix had an irrational fear that the dead empress would respond. However, she remained silent and motionless. Her implacable gaze did not waver.