Nine for the Devil (14 page)
It was time for John to leave. He walked toward the aisle, passing the reliquaries housing the skulls of saints Andrew, Luke, and Timothy. The reliquaries resembled miniature churches dipped in gold and encrusted with gems. The flames of their surrounding candles made them flash and glitter and twinkle so the gaze could not fix upon their surfaces but was constantly drawn away by the moving light, as a glowing soul might draw the attention from a physical body.
“Lord Chamberlain, I noticed you speaking with Vigilius.”
The long-bearded, narrow face of Patriarch Menas loomed in John’s path.
“We exchanged pleasantries.”
“The pope did not look very pleased, but then he rarely does. I see you are admiring our relics. Some day you should let me show you everything we have here. Relics of John Chrysostom and countless other saints and martyrs. The bones of the three apostles are buried beneath us. They were discovered in three wooden coffins when excavations for this rebuilt church were under way. It was the Lord’s way of blessing Theodora’s enterprise.”
“I was present at the ceremony when she laid the cornerstone,” John replied.
The endless ceremonies he had attended blurred into a soporific cloud of glittering tedium but he could not help recalling the empress in her finery, playing the part of a mason on a brutally cold windy day, managing to splash mud over both herself and the emperor while the assembled officials and courtiers desperately tried to stifle their laughter for the good of their necks.
“She did more than lay the cornerstone,” Menas said. “As it happened there hadn’t been sufficient money allocated for construction. The three apostles appeared to Theodora in a dream and instructed her to go to the shore by the city gate, where she would find twelves jars filled with gold buried. She did so and in fact there were jars of gold coins bearing the likenesses of the apostles.”
The picture of the empress digging in the mud on the beach almost made John smile. “Do you believe that legend, Patriarch Menas?”
“It is a story the common people enjoy, Lord Chamberlain.”
“And so perhaps you thought I would enjoy it also?”
Menas reddened. “I meant no insult.”
“Indeed. What did you wish to speak about?”
“Pope Vigilius. I hope he has not been slandering me?”
“Why would he do so?”
“It is no secret we are at odds over the Three Chapters.” Menas gave John a bleak smile. “I sometimes wish I had remained head of Samsun’s Hospice. I felt I was truly serving the Lord there, ministering to the poor. I would be happy to be doing that today. What greater work is there than alleviating the suffering of our fellow men?”
John had no intention of recounting to Menas his conversation with Vigilius. “You are worried what people might think now that Theodora is dead?”
“You mean because I replaced that favorite of hers, Anthimus, as patriarch, people might suppose I was somehow involved with her demise?”
“You are the one who mentioned slander.”
“It was more than a decade since I was appointed. And it wasn’t as if I sought the position. Pope Agapetus asked me to take it. If Theodora had a grievance with anyone it was with Agapetus. As for Theodora and I, we reconciled long since, even if her views were less than orthodox.”
“That hardly needs to be said. At any rate, Vigilius told me as much.”
“So he was being honest for once.” Menas shook his head vehemently, causing his long beard to tremble. “A troublesome man. When he first arrived he cut me off from the table of the Lord for four months. I wish Justinian would send him back to Rome.”
“You can hardly blame him for being unhappy. He was after all abducted from church forcibly and transported here.” John was remembering his own recent abduction.
“Abducted? Rescued, you mean. The populace was so disgusted they threw stones at his ship as it sailed off. He had no business becoming pope in the first place. Theodora sent him to Rome with a fortune in gold and orders to Belisarius to install him on the papal throne.”
“Do you think Vigilius would have sought to harm the empress?”
“Physically, you mean? I know what is being said but I would never accuse him of murder.”
“Tell me, did you visit Theodora while she was ill? She must have sought spiritual guidance. She wouldn’t have allowed Vigilius to offer it, but she might have accepted comfort from you as patriarch.”
“She seldom summoned me after she took to her sickbed, Lord Chamberlain. She did not seem interested in receiving clergymen, or at least I was never informed of her asking to see one.”
“Odd behavior, I would say,” John offered.
“Very unusual. Perhaps she regretted her heretical leanings or maybe she took comfort from Justinian. He is after all God’s representative on earth.”
They continued to speak for a short time. Menas appeared satisfied Vigilius had said nothing to John which might cause Menas trouble, and John managed to avoid being drawn into further theological discussions.
Both being satisfied, they went their separate ways, John back to the house he had not expected to see again.
Hypatia thanked Anatolius and left his house. She was sure there had been someone observing her from the office. Who could possibly be there on business at this hour?
As she left, she saw the gatekeeper grinning to himself. Anatolius must have been entertaining a woman when Hypatia arrived. That was it. The gatekeeper suspected there had been trouble.
She came out of the passage and started across the small forum from which it led. In the forum’s center a statue of an emperor or some lesser forgotten luminary appeared to be wading in a fountain basin.
When she reached the corner of the street leading in the direction of the palace she paused.
A sudden impulse caused her to look back.
It wasn’t her business who Anatolius chose to entertain. Peter was more important than Anatolius’ love affairs.
But why had Anatolius been anxious for Hypatia to leave? What did he care whether John’s servant caught a glimpse of his lady friend?
As she stood in the shadows a figure emerged from the passage.
A woman dressed in a bright blue stola.
Vesta.
Joannina’s lady-in-waiting glanced around and then walked toward Hypatia.
Hypatia backed quickly into a doorway.
Vesta appeared to be in a hurry. She went by with her eyes down, so close Hypatia could smell her perfume. If she noticed a form in the shadowy doorway she must have taken it for a drowsing beggar.
Hypatia waited long enough to be certain Vesta was well on her way and then set off at a brisk pace for the palace.
She did not have time to ponder why Anatolius apparently had not wanted her to see Joannina’s lady-in-waiting. Having done what she could for John, her thoughts turned to Peter.
If Gaius were fit to treat the empress surely he was qualified to care for an elderly servant? But physicians were not always mindful enough of their patients’ comfort. Surely it wouldn’t interfere with Peter’s treatment if she made a potion to relieve pain. She could collect the necessary ingredients from Gaius’ herb garden on the way back.
Once on the palace grounds she took the wide path used by carters and others to ferry supplies to the kitchens. Now the sun had risen further, and shadows cast by lines of trees barred the path. Through the trees could be glimpsed the vegetable beds where Hypatia spent much of her time cultivating those needed for culinary purposes.
At its far end the path forked, one side leading to the kitchen buildings and the other to an open space where carts unloaded boxes of eggs, slabs of fly-encrusted meat, barrels of fish, sacks of flour, crates of fruit, and other supplies. Passing through the vegetable garden beyond would bring her out on a walkway providing a short cut to Gaius’ herb garden. It was a familiar route for Hypatia, who often took it when returning from an early morning visit to the market, but wished to pick fresher herbs for sauces or stews than those offered in the city.
She again thought of Peter left alone and quickened her step, ignoring the jests of three burly men carrying amphorae into the back door of the kitchens. She soon reached a large grove of pine trees shading a marble statue of Poseidon guarding a fish pond. Created to resemble an open space in a wood, the shrubby glade featured patches of ferns and wild flowers clustered here and there among moss-covered boulders. Poseidon’s fish, ornamental rather than destined to be served at the imperial table, lived in a rocky, shadow-dappled pool fed by a trickling stream.
A flicker of movement caught Hypatia’s eye as she passed the entrance to the grove.
Vesta was visible just behind Poseidon, working in a tall patch of foxgloves alive with the humming of bees going to and fro between the flowers’ purple fingers. Vesta kept looking around, furtively, as she stooped to collect foxglove leaves she put into a small bag.
When she first arrived at the Great Palace, Hypatia had been surprised the showy flowers were permitted to flourish on the grounds. They were praised by physicians for treating affectations of the heart, but she knew the purple spikes were also the source of a deadly poison and thus perhaps not the wisest choice of plantings in a court whose members would kill to advance a step in the hierarchy or eliminate a rival for an obscure imperial post.
Recollection of poison reminded Hypatia of John’s seemingly impossible task of finding Theodora’s poisoner, if indeed such a person existed.
Was the poison Justinian believed had been used to murder Theodora been brewed with these or other examples of the beautiful if deadly plant?
And to what purpose would Vesta put the material she was secretly gathering?
Intrigued, Hypatia hid behind a nearby summerhouse until Vesta emerged from the grove, and followed her a second time through the rapidly growing crowds in the city’s thoroughfares.
Vesta’s destination lay in the shadow of the Hippodrome.
Antonina’s house.
John found his house door locked. He knocked, waited, and tried again. There was no response.
He looked up at the second story window of his study. The diamond-shaped panes showed only muddled reflections.
He raised his fist to pound harder, then paused to think. If Hypatia were there she would have answered. She must have gone out, and Peter wouldn’t be able to navigate the stairs even if he could hear John’s knock up on the third floor.
It would be best if Peter didn’t hear because if he did, he might foolishly attempt to get out of bed.
What could have prompted Hypatia to leave Peter alone?
The answer was obvious. She assumed John was in danger, having been abducted in the middle of the night, and had gone to seek help.
Should he look for her at the Urban Prefect’s offices?
She would hardly have sought the assistance of the prefect’s night watch. They worked in concert with the excubitors and it had been excubitors who carried John off.
He doubted she had seen his captors but if by good fortune she had glimpsed the carriage surely she would have recognized it as an imperial vehicle.
Therefore, he reasoned, she would seek help from someone outside the palace.
Who did Hypatia know in the city who could help?
Anatolius. Who else? John’s friend, who had at one time paid her unwanted attention.
John strode back across the square in the direction from which he’d just arrived.
The sun rose higher, measuring its power in shadows fingering rooftops and statues. Already it was warm, heralding another stifling day. Carts carrying crates of produce and squawking chickens rattled through streets coming alive with artisans hurrying to their work and beggars rolling out of sheltered corners to begin scratching out a hopeless existence for another day.
John took a shortcut, little more than a crevice between buildings. He was sorry almost as soon as he emerged from it when he was hailed by a man scrubbing the entrance to a business selling costly linen, wool, and similar cloths.
“You are abroad early, sir. A worker like myself, no doubt? Times are hard for those who labor to earn an honest crust.”
The man sat back on his heels. “It’s not just outrageous taxes. When do you think Justinian will authorize measures to protect merchants from beggars using our doorsteps as lavatories?”
John was reminded of Artabanes urinating across his hedge frontier. Before he could answer, the shop owner, evidently a man happy to pass the time of day with anyone who would listen, continued.
“Every morning I have to scrub my steps. The ladies don’t want to buy in a place smelling of—well—it reminds me of a certain landowner one of my cousins works for. This landowner, you’d know him if I mentioned his name, very well-known he is, he’s so rich he has a servant whose only task is to keep his master’s collection of statues cleansed of bird droppings. And yet he only collects damaged statues! You know, missing a limb or damaged in the casting. What’s the use in buying such statues, I ask you, sir? They’re fit only to melt down for the value of the copper.”
John agreed that it was quite puzzling and hurried on before the fellow could bring up Theodora’s death and point out a rival who sold cloth colored with poisonous dyes.
It occurred to him that the peculiar collector might feel he was sheltering those poor, injured images. At times he found himself reacting to a statue he passed as if it were alive. Feeling sorry, for example, for the long-forgotten dignitary who stood year after year in the forum near Anatolius’ house, alone and unrecognized though he had been a great man once. Could a statue retain some part of the living man? If a dessicated piece of bone could harbor the essence of a saint, why not?
His thoughts uncharacteristically wandering, he almost failed to see the figure emerging from the entry of the passage to Anatolius’ house.
It was Vesta, walking quickly with her gaze on the ground.
John stepped back and positioned himself behind the unfortunate statue standing forlornly in the fountain’s basin. The marble man could have used the assistance of the benefactor of statuary. The less than artful modifications made by the weather and gulls made it hard to tell whether he was a general or a poet.
John waited until Vesta’s slim figure vanished down the street before continuing on his way.
When he had seen Vesta at Anatolius’ not long before, Anatolius’ comment had indicated the fair-haired lady-in-waiting was a client. However, it seemed a strange hour to be conducting business, and with a girl practically young enough to be a daughter.
Anatolius greeted him effusively.
“John! So you are well after all! Hypatia must be relieved.”
“She was here?”
“Yes. Didn’t you meet her on your way?”
John shook his head. “I took a shortcut.”
“She was frantic. Something about you being dragged out into the night. I was just about to rush off to the palace to see what I could find out.”
John gave a brief account of the night’s events, leaving out the fear he had felt.
“You best be getting home, John. Who knows what Hypatia will do when she gets back and finds you’re still absent?”
“Hypatia is a sensible woman. I’m sure she realizes she’s done what she could. Although I missed her, I did see Vesta leaving,” John added after a short pause.
Anatolius shook his head tiredly. “I’m overwhelmed with work, John. Vesta was here again yesterday. I stressed I couldn’t see her today because of a number of important appointments. So what does she do? She turns up on my doorstep before dawn, or as she put it in advance of my first appointment.”
“Is she consulting you on behalf of her mistress?”
“What else? The girl is a devoted servant but I wish she wouldn’t harass me endlessly. I’ve told her repeatedly there is nothing I can do to help a couple living together illicitly and without the approval of the girl’s parents.”
He paused and rubbed his red-rimmed eyes. “Since Anastasius is Theodora’s grandson he’ll doubtless avoid prosecution. I’ve stressed that more than once to Vesta, not to mention pointing out the young couple should be grateful for the protection Theodora extends them from the grave.”
“A strange notion,” John observed.
“Yes. Well, I shouldn’t detain you.”
John was struck with the unsettling impression that Anatolius was concealing something. Was his friend really so tired or was he trying to mask his nervousness? Did he seem overly anxious for John to return home?
Perhaps Anatolius sensed John’s doubts. He smiled ruefully. “I must be getting old, John. The young ladies visit my house only for advice these days.”
“You mentioned that the last time I saw Vesta here.”
“Did I?”
In the old days a young lady who insisted on visiting Anatolius with regularity would most certainly have found herself subject to his attentions. Not that Vesta was a beauty. She was still just a ungainly girl.
“At least I have saved you going to the palace to try and save me,” John said. “I’d best be on my way.”
“Wait, my friend. I’m afraid I might have given you the wrong impression. I didn’t mean to be rude. Stay a little while. Have a cup of wine. You look as if you need one.”
“But Hypatia—”
“As you say, she’s sensible. She was much calmer by the time she left. I’ll have the wine brought. You don’t have to worry about Hypatia.”