Nine for the Devil (23 page)
When the surly underling showed John into a room near the back of Germanus’ house, the general and the Cappadocian looked up from a map spread on a table. The long, low table and several chairs were the only furnishings. Surprise was evident on the mens’ faces.
“Lord Chamberlain!” Germanus’ smile showed too many of his large, square teeth. “An honor indeed. May I inquire what brings you here?”
“My investigation,” John replied. “What brings the Cappadocian here?”
“He is my guest,” came the reply. “What other reason could there be?”
“Men who are supposed to be in exile are dangerous guests, Germanus. However, I am fortunate in finding you both here. I have questions and I expect answers.”
Germanus flushed. “By what right?”
The Cappadocian gave a short bark of laughter. “He doesn’t have to give reasons, even if you are Justinian’s cousin. After all, a Lord Chamberlain outranks a mere general!”
Germanus suggested the trio go into the garden to avoid being overheard. “A man is not safe from eavesdroppers even in his own home.”
John indicated his agreement, although he thought it was a poor general who could not secure his own perimeter. “I have spent much of the last week talking to people who don’t want to be overheard,” he said, not adding he had just come from the Augustaion where he had spoken to Anatolius, to avoid surreptitious listeners.
“The garden is better than the top of a column, though not by much,” the Cappadocian remarked. He lightly patted his tonsured scalp, peeling from exposure to the sun. “We go to great lengths to keep our business private, yet the Lord hears every word we speak, no matter where we are.” He gave a wide grin.
John followed the tax collector and powerfully built general into a garden that was almost as stark as the room they had left. Paved with large green marble flagstones, its only decorative features were a statue of Athena leaning on her spear and a fountain to which Germanus led his companions. Long, late afternoon shadows were cast by the western colonnade.
“The splashing helps mask our words,” Germanus explained at the lichen-covered lip of the fountain basin.
Was such caution necessary, John wondered? The bulky, unmistakable figure of the Cappadocian in Germanus’ house was as damning as any words that might be said. “What is the real reason for your playing host to a man the emperor ordered into exile?” John asked.
“You are thinking of the friendly warning I sent you after we met at the baths,” Germanus replied. “You are thinking it was an attempt to persuade you that looking into my affairs was not wise? And that therefore I must be attempting to hide something.”
John tensed. He had sensed movement out of the corner of his eye. His gaze swept the surroundings.
There, under the colonnade at the far end of the garden, partly hidden behind a pillar, stood the brawny guard Germanus had sent after him.
“Hiding something or someone.” John nodded toward the guard. “The messenger you sent after me is standing over there with his sword drawn.”
Germanus slapped his knee in delight. “Do you think I am stupid enough to have you assassinated in my own garden? And there would be no reason anyway. There’s an innocent explanation for my extending hospitality to our friend here.”
“You’ve had long enough to think up a convincing story,” John said. “Let me hear it.”
Germanus looked down into the rippling water in the fountain basin. “Yes. Well, Lord Chamberlain, a wise man plans for all eventualities and that is what we have done. No doubt you recall my friend here was exiled after he was caught at a secret meeting with Antonina, supposedly to hatch a plot against Justinian.”
“Everyone recalls that. Belisarius was never involved. It was a trap set by Antonina and Theodora,” John replied. “Go on.”
“Yes, it was all a deceit cooked up by Antonina to advance Belisarius’ interests and thus her own, since she is married to him, although she often forgets that to be the case. And Theodora supported her slanders because she and Antonina were friends and she wanted to get rid of my guest here because…well, who can say? Because she hated him. You can understand that, Lord Chamberlain.”
The Cappadocian chuckled. “Do you suppose as a child she was abused by someone named John?”
Germanus did not smile. “I find it hard to imagine that Theodora could ever have been abused. She was always the one doing the abusing. At any rate, after those two harpies entrapped my friend here, he was lucky not to lose his head.”
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.”
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?”