by Albert Noyer
“Yes, I leeched her,” Getorius broke in to cover his wife’s embarrassment.
“She’s better, Domina,” Charadric replied. “The redness has gone away.”
“Good.”
“Full use of your hand again?” Getorius asked. “That was a nasty wound I stitched up.” In answer the guard grinned and rapidly flexed the fingers of his left hand. “Fine. I heard you’ve been promoted to lead one of the elite Germanic units that Aetius is forming from some of the palace guards.”
“After the new year,” Charadric replied. “I’ll go now…let you visit with your wife.”
“Good fortune to you.”
“We brought your supper instead of having Brisios come,” Arcadia said after the guard left. “Put the basket on the chair, Silvia, then you may go back to the villa.”
“Appreciated,” Getorius remarked, “but I’m almost too excited to eat. Flavius Aetius was just here with good news.”
Arcadia grasped his arm. “The charge against you has been dropped?”
“Not quite, cara…” Before explaining, Getorius waited for Silvia to leave, and checked the hallway for anyone who might overhear, then took hold of Arcadia’s hands. “I had an idea when the commander last came to see me. During the course of our conversation he reminded me of an Egyptian colony in Ravenna—”
“Idea about what?”
“I’d been reading Herodotus on ancient embalming methods. It was admittedly a long shot, but I thought some of their Isis priests might have found out about Behan’s death.”
“And excised the organs?” Arcadia pulled her hands away. “Husband, it’s hard to believe they’d be that bold.”
“I said it was a long shot. I asked Aetius to look for canopic jars in their temple. He found all four of them.”
“Then you’re exonerated!” she cried. “That’s wonderful.”
“There’s still the matter of the scalpel. But Placidia did say she would talk to the bishop about having me released.”
“When would you be freed?”
“Bishop Chrysologos is preoccupied with the Nativity celebration this week. Probably not until the new year.”
“Getorius, that’s too late. If a duplicate will exists it would be brought out in place of the original at the Nativity. At least Rabbi Zadok thought it might happen then, but we still don’t know how that might be done.”
“Woman, what do you want me to do?” he snapped, then regretted his outburst. “Sorry, Arcadia. I’ve been frustrated just sitting in here, but you’re right. Aetius’ discovery doesn’t change the threat posed by the Secundus Papyrus.” He kissed his wife’s forehead and held her close, burying his face in her hair.
“I understand.” Arcadia pulled free after a moment. “Now eat what I brought.”
“Smells good.” He picked at the corner of the cloth covering the basket. “What did Agrica cook?”
“Pork and lentils,” she told him, taking a bronze pan from inside the basket. “Put that dish and knife on the table, I’ll spoon your food out.” Getorius laid the hamper back on the bed and sat on the chair. “It was clever of you to remember that Egyptian rite,” Arcadia commented as she watched her husband slice into the meat.
“A chance remark of Sigisvult’s made me curious enough to read Herodotus. And you had mentioned the historian yourself in the clinic once.”
“When we talked about Pandora,” she recalled.
Getorius noticed that Arcadia’s brows had tightened into a scowl. “Cara, don’t look so worried. I can stand a few more days of this.”
“But there’s still the problem of your scalpel. Finding the jars doesn’t explain why someone tried to implicate you in a crime.”
“True, and I’ve had a lot of time to think about that. If my being detained here is connected to having discovered the papyri, I’ve been—in a sense—eliminated as a witness. Placidia intervened and insisted that I be kept here, rather than in an underground cell, but the person responsible couldn’t have foreseen that she would do that.”
“That was fortunate—anything could have happened in that cell. You’re safer in this room.”
“But what about you? You were also a witness.”
“Childibert and Brisios are at the house,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
“I want Brisios to come with you when you visit.”
“It’s only around the corner—”
“In Hades’s name, woman, listen to me! Do what I say until I can be with you.”
Arcadia shrugged agreement. “All right, Getorius. Perhaps Senator Maximin would let us get away to his villa for a few days after the fine.” New Year. You might look in on his mother when you’re released, even though he seemed pleased when he saw the way I treated her.”
“Maximin actually remained in the room with you? He only watched me once while I treated Agatha.” Getorius was spooning up lentils, when he abruptly paused to exclaim, “Zeus’ beard, that could explain it!”
“Explain what?”
“Publius Maximin. On the last occasion that I went to see Agatha, he stayed in the room. I didn’t think anything of it, but the senator could easily have taken the scalpel from my case.”
“But that makes him part of all this. What would he gain from it?”
“Arcadia, you’re the one who saw the cockerel ring. That abbot, or whoever is at the head of the conspiracy, needed accomplices. During the time Behan was in Ravenna, the monk must have recruited Maximin.”
“I don’t know. You thought I’d never come back from visiting his farm.”
“Cara, I just was making sure you were careful while you were there.”
“I can’t believe the senator would be involved in this kind of horrendous conspiracy.”
“The man’s experienced the headiness of having power, and he has none right now,” Getorius reasoned. “It must rankle him to be forced to appeal to a person like Valentinian for Patrician status.”
“But Placidia suspects that Flavius Aetius is involved.”
“Maximin would need his army. And it wouldn’t be the first time a commander has betrayed his emperor.”
“Both in it together?” Arcadia was silent for a moment, then said, “If you’re right, neither one of us will survive. Even Galla Placidia is in danger.”
“This is December twenty-third. There’s little more than a day to stop them, and I’m still confined in here.”
“Getorius, I…do you remember when we were falling in love?” Arcadia reached into the basket to pull out a slim volume she had packed with the food. “We read Ovid’s Ars Amatoria together and laughed over the part where…here, I’ve brought it.”
“With all this happening, woman, we’re going to read love poetry?”
“Just this part. It begins, ‘If you are wise, cheat women only and avoid trouble. Keep faith except for this deceitfulness.’”
Getorius chuckled in remembrance. “You almost threw the book at me when I showed it to you.”
“It’s the next verse. You read it.”
Getorius took the book and found the place. “Deceive the deceivers, they are mostly a profane sort. Let them fall into the snare they have made.” He looked up, puzzled. “So?”
“I have to set that snare, Getorius. There’s not much time and you’ll have to trust me.”
“No!” he objected. “I mean, what are you going to do?”
“Where are the papyri now? Would Theokritos still have them?”
“Theokritos? You haven’t heard, have you? Placidia is keeping it quiet, but he died yesterday.”
“What? How? He succumbed to the fever?”
“Charadric told me palace gossip says it happened after that Hibernian abbot heard his confession.”
“Confession?” Arcadia scoffed, “with that Gnostic amulet Theokritos wore?” She stood and came over to hug her husband for a long moment, then looked at him and brushed at the gray strands in his black hair. “Getorius, we two and the Gothic Queen may be the only w
itnesses left. I must have the Secundus Papyrus and Peter’s letter today, by the time it gets dark outside. Can we pay Charadric to let me stay here tonight? We haven’t made love in…in too long a time. Tell him we don’t want to be disturbed.”
“I like that last part, but not the other. Why do you want the documents? We don’t even know where they are.”
“Theokritos stored them somewhere in his office or room.” Arcadia smoothed the lines in her husband’s forehead with her fingers, then looked directly into his eyes. “I said you’d have to trust me.” She reached into the basket and took out the golden case that Nathaniel had returned. “I’ve had this locked in your study. I…I want to put the two papyri inside the case again. As Rabbi Zadok pointed out, if this is of the Lord, then it will succeed no matter what I, nor anyone does.”
“I don’t believe God is involved.”
“Nor do I,” she agreed, “but I don’t want us to end up murdered like Sigisvult and Renatus. And if that abbot is part of this conspiracy, Theokritos may have been another victim. Will you do what I ask?”
“But we don’t know where the documents are. And to steal them from under the noses of—”
Arcadia shushed him with a finger against his lips. “Would there be any copyists working in the library now?”
“I don’t think so. They told me they were let off early because of the Nativity vigil tomorrow.”
“Then the library shouldn’t have anyone in it.”
“True.”
“Theokritos was working on the experiments in his office,” she recalled, “but after he became ill he stayed in his room. The will could be in either place. I’m sorry to say this, but the confusion right now may help us. Placidia is probably occupied with bonuses for the Scholarians and Nativity gifts for the palace staff—to say nothing of her concern over Aetius’ intentions.”
“So…what are you suggesting?”
“Charadric lives in one of the barracks rooms like this one, with his wife. He can move around the palace without arousing suspicion.”
“And you want him to search for the papyri? Hades, woman…” Getorius took a deep breath and exhaled, resigned to not arguing with his wife any longer. “All right. Charadric is indebted to me for saving his hand, and probably his wife’s leg. I’ll tell him to look in Theokritos’ room first, then his library office.”
“Can Charadric read?”
Getorius shook his head. “I’ll describe what he’s to look for.”
Arcadia took a small piece of vellum from her purse. “There’s one more thing…that snare I mentioned. Have him leave this where he finds the documents.”
Getorius looked at a sketch on the vellum. “A red cockerel? All right, but we don’t know that the conspirators haven’t already found the papyri. Or that Theokritos wasn’t in on the plot and gave the documents to this abbot.”
“And, Getorius, we could speculate until the General Resurrection. I need to act now.”
“I’ll go find Charadric.”
Charadric had already heard the latest barracks talk about Getorius being released, and saw no problem in letting Arcadia stay the night. A gold tremissis persuaded him to search for the documents that Getorius described. Palace security was lax at this time of year. Guards were in a festive mood, anticipating the Nativity and New Year celebrations, where they would reaffirm their oath of loyalty to the emperor and receive gifts of equipment and money.
Using his guard’s passkey, Charadric entered Theokritos’ room. Because of the palace confusion that Arcadia had anticipated, no orders had been given about the librarian’s funeral, and he was still laid out on the bed. His shrunken jaw had dropped grotesquely, and his thin body barely made a bulge under the bedclothes.
Charadric assumed that the desk cabinet was the only place in the room where documents could be stored. Inside, in a cedar box, he found only one sheet with writing on it, but it did not match Getorius’ description. He left it in place.
The library was not deserted, as Charadric had been told it would be. A copyist working on the text of Valentinian’s New Year address to his Scholarian guards nodded to him in recognition—the guard had taken Getorius through the copy room to read every day for three weeks. Charadric told him that Getorius wanted writing materials from Theokritos’ office.
Behind the curtain the old librarian’s worktable was still littered with the dishes and jars he had used in his experiments. Getorius had described the two papyri as being flattened out on cedar boards and held in place with golden ribbons. They were not on the table, or on Theokritos’ desk, but there was a wall cabinet above it. Charadric silently forced its lock with his dagger blade.
Inside, among manuscript scrolls, the glint of gold caught the guard’s eye. Theokritos evidently had taken the documents off the boards, rolled them up again, and held them in place with the golden bands. This had to be what the surgeon wanted.
With the papyri concealed under his cloak, Charadric had reached the book stacks before he remembered Arcadia’s scrap of vellum. He went back and placed the red rooster drawing inside the wall cabinet.
It was almost dark by the time Charadric headed back to Getorius’ room. In the garden he passed Heraclius, who was headed for the slave quarters, and guessed that Valentinian had returned from hunting and ordered the eunuch to bring him a young girl for the evening. Eudoxia, sulking at her husband’s prolonged absence, had no doubt locked him out of her bedroom.
When Charadric took the papyri from under his cloak and gave them to Arcadia, she breathed a prayer of thanks to Blessed Cosmas, a patron saint of physicians. She could think of no other appropriate holy person and had, in fact, not really expected the guard to find the documents.
Later that evening Getorius and Arcadia made love with an intensity they had never reached before. It was as if the end of an age was at hand, and they were not sure that they would survive the resulting chaos. Afterward, Getorius fell into a deep sleep—the type of sleep that had eluded him for weeks because of worries over the forged will and the false accusation against him.
Arcadia lay in a half-doze, but awakened fully when she heard the sixth hour guards talking as they came off duty. It was the midpoint between night and day and, perhaps, she mused, for the life that she and her husband had known—as well as for everyone in the Western and Eastern Roman Empires—if her plan failed.
Rising quietly, Arcadia slipped on her tunic and cloak, then pulled its hood over her head. She eased the twin papyri back into their golden case, concealed the cylinder in the folds of her cape, and stepped out into the winter night. Icy air had followed the earlier rain. Now, frost glistened on the paving stones of the walk leading to the garden. She turned left, toward the kitchen area and its ice storage room.
“You brought this with you, Behan,” she murmured, patting the hard bulge next to her tunic. “Tomorrow you can take it back to wherever you’re going.”
Chapter twenty-three
Arcadia walked quietly, hugging the walls of the imperial apartments. A few sputtering torches threw orange, smoky light on the poplar and black yew trees in the garden. She had once asked the palace cooks to reheat food brought for Getorius and, near the kitchen, saw the ice blocks that had been cut from mountain lakes and stored in a room close to where staff meals were prepared.
Behan’s corpse would be there.
She kept to the shadows and hurried past the wells of flickering torchlight, worried about being seen, and also about having to pass the area where Valentinian kept his menagerie of animals. Fortunately, all the apartment windows were dark, except for a warm glow in two near the end. In a dark area between the torches, Arcadia paused to listen for any noises—footsteps, voices, or the jingle of a patrolling guard’s equipment—that might betray someone’s approach. Waiting, she glanced up. Far above her head the velour blackness of the sky was dotted with the glimmering points of Capricorn, as the Ram constellation swung around to replace the Archer of the past month. Ironic, she mu
sed, Sagittarius had been an appropriate sign for the November deaths, which had begun with the bow bolt that killed Feletheus. And it was fortunate that the winter moon, almost in its full phase, would not rise for more than two hours.
Patting the bulge of the case under her cloak for reassurance again, Arcadia neared the palace chapel dedicated to the Archangel Michael. Sigisvult and Surrus Renatus had been buried from there in hasty, private services.
She had just passed the entrance when a peacock unexpectedly voiced its unearthly, piercing cry from the zoo area across the way. The sudden sound sent a shiver through Arcadia, even as a leopard growled a rumbling warning in response. She froze in her steps and held her breath, silently praying to Cosmas that she had not set off a cacophony of animal calls which would alert the sentries and send them out to investigate the cause.
While Arcadia waited, the smell of offal from the animal cages reminded her of the week she had spent at Maximin’s farm. What role does the senator have in all this? Getorius thinks it might be a bid for power, but Maximin would have to be very desperate to ally himself with an order of monks no one seems to know anything about. Or perhaps he knew Behan from visiting the palace library?
The zoo creatures settled back into quiet. Arcadia thanked Cosmas and slowly exhaled, her breath a cloud of spectral vapor melting into the cold darkness of the garden.
Once she had reached the kitchens in the north wing of the Lauretum, Arcadia recalled that the ice storage room was in an alcove immediately to the right of the kitchen. It had its own door so that the frozen blocks could be brought directly in from outside, without going through the kitchen itself. A lamp hung in the recess, throwing enough light to show that the portal was bolted shut.
My Furcing luck!—Arcadia gave a muffled laugh at her impulsive mental vulgarity—I thought it would be unlocked because there’s no need for ice in the winter. And the presence of a dead body in the room should be enough to frighten slaves away from entering to steal supplies.
After examining the locking wards Arcadia saw that they were a standard design resembling the ones used to secure the outer clinic door. She searched her purse and found the key, eight wards that pushed up their corresponding pegs to release the bolt bar. After working the projections into their slots, she breathed another prayer of thanks to Cosmas. They matched. The bolt rasped through its brackets with a screech she felt could be heard in every room of the palace. Arcadia quickly entered and pulled the door shut after her.
