Nine for the Devil (5 page)
“It was Anatolius who caused you to leave, wasn’t it?” Peter asked.
Hypatia shook her head and a lock of hair, black as a raven’s wing, fell across her forehead. She pushed it away with a tawny hand. “No, Peter. I just felt you didn’t want my assistance.”
Peter levered himself up with his elbow. A cushion from one of the house’s virtually unused reception rooms was wedged between his bony back and the wall. “That young man was paying you unwanted attention. Don’t think I didn’t notice. It was most improper.”
“You mean because he’s a senator’s son and I’m a servant?”
“That’s not what I meant exactly, Hypatia. What I meant was that Anatolius is not the sort of man you would, well, get along with. Flighty.”
Hypatia couldn’t help smiling. Scowling as he was, Peter looked very fierce. His leathery, wrinkled face displayed a finely lined map of his long life. Had he always looked aged? When Hypatia imagined him at twenty, he looked the same as the man before her. His eyes were still as young and lively as they must have been then, she thought. “That was years ago. I’m surprised you remember. It wasn’t serious. We both know how Anatolius is about women.”
“About attractive young women.”
“Why, thank you, Peter.” She was sure Peter’s face flushed slightly. “What is Anatolius doing now? Still a lawyer?”
“Yes. The master tells me Anatolius is faring well in his profession.”
“Not so flighty as he once was then?”
Peter lowered his voice to a whisper. “Between you and me, his business thrives mostly because he used to be Justinian’s personal secretary. People come to him because they suppose he might still have the emperor’s ear. Not only that, but everyone at court knows he’s a good friend of the master and the imperial council the master belongs to hears legal appeals.”
“Speaking of which, I intend to stay here as long as you need me, even if Anatolius throws himself at my feet and proposes marriage.”
Peter’s face sagged. “You don’t think he might—”
“Oh, of course not! Here, drink this.” She pressed a cup half-filled with brownish-green sludge into his hand. The thick liquid resembled the growth atop a stagnant puddle. “It’s a tonic. I make it for Gaius to give his patients.”
Peter raised the cup. His nose wrinkled and his lips tightened.
“It isn’t hemlock!” Hypatia said.
He managed to imbibe the medicine.
“There, it’s not so bad, is it?”
“I’m afraid it is very bad. Very, very bad. But if you say it will help…”
“It will. I’m glad Cornelia is still here. Are they married yet?”
The question seemed to startle Peter. “In the eyes of God, yes.”
Hypatia smiled. “It’s strange how none of our employer’s circle of friends have married. Not Anatolius nor even Captain Felix. Do you suppose it’s because they are Mithrans and can’t find suitable matches?”
“You know we don’t talk about the master’s religion, Hypatia.”
“I’d only mention it to you, Peter.”
“You shouldn’t mention it even to me. There are laws against pagan practices. Who can say what danger the master could find himself in?”
“But Justinian must know that—”
“Please. Don’t say anything more about it.”
The room’s single window opened on a vista of the city dominated by the dome of the Great Church. Peter would be able to see it from where he sat propped up against his elegant cushion. Hypatia was not a Christian, but worshiped the gods of her native Egypt. “I understand the master will soon be a grandfather,” she said to change the vexed subject.
“That’s right. He’s awaiting news.”
“The child was some time in coming, wasn’t it? Europa and Thomas have been married for years.”
“We all arrive when God wills it. And depart.” Peter lifted a thin arm and moved his hand in the Christians’ sign.
“They are still living on the estate owned by Anatolius’ uncle?”
“Zeno’s estate. Yes. Thomas is still employed as estate manager. I never thought that redheaded rogue would settle down to a regular job.”
“He was a military, man wasn’t he?”
“Harrumph! He claimed he was a knight. I saw a rogue, plain and simple.”
“But things have turned out for the best, as fate would have it.”
“Fate? You mean God’s will.”
Hypatia made no reply. Was it only the Christian’s haughty god who didn’t consider himself subject to fate? She bent over to straighten Peter’s coverlet. “Why don’t you let me adjust your cushion so you can lie down? The potion I gave you will make you sleep.”
Peter’s eyes narrowed. “You said it was a tonic.”
“Sleep is the best tonic.”
“But I wanted to tell you about what’s happened since you worked here last.”
“There’ll be plenty of time for that.”
Grumbling, Peter managed to slip into a prone position, grimacing when he slid his splinted leg further down the bed. “I already mentioned the master is now officially a member of the consistory, although he was always one of the emperor’s closest advisors. And you won’t be surprised to know he has performed some confidential assignments and had a few close brushes with death while you’ve been gone.”
“Which you will be able to tell me all about in the weeks ahead,” Hypatia said, adjusting the cushion.
“I won’t be bedridden for weeks, Hypatia. Do you think I won’t be able to manage the stairs with a crutch soon or that I can’t chop onions sitting down? In a few days I won’t need your assistance and you can go back to your flowers and herbs.”
“There’s no hurry. When our employer spoke to me in the gardens yesterday evening and told me about your accident I agreed to help out. How could I not? I will be here longer than a few days, Peter. Gaius thinks you might be laid up for months.”
“Months?” Peter’s words slurred and his eyelids drooped.
“Perhaps. Even if it is, I will be here.”
“It distresses me to think of you having to care for me that long,” Peter mumbled.
Hypatia was pleased to see he did not look distressed.
While Peter and Hypatia talked John passed through the cross-emblazoned entrance to the glittering maze of Theodora’s private quarters.
He had not lingered at home that morning. After taking a gulp of heavily watered wine and grabbing a chunk of stale bread, he had gone out to continue his investigation.
The sun was rising over the tall cypresses marking the edge of the gardens not far from his house. In the quiet he could hear the faint shouts of laborers drifting up from the imperial harbor as they unloaded a ship. From what part of the empire had it come? What had the crew thought when they were greeted at the docks by word of Theodora’s death?
He had awakened to the sounds of Hypatia rattling pots and plates as she cooked and on his way out caught a glimpse of her climbing the stairs to Peter’s room. It did not strike him as out of the ordinary. The years since her departure had vanished.
Strange how malleable time and memory could be.
What struck him as unusual was how empty his bed felt. Half-awake, he rolled over and only then remembered, with a pang, that Cornelia was away at Zeno’s estate.
After he was so terribly wounded, John came to think of himself as a solitary man. He did not need human companionship in order to exist. What he did not need, he did not want. What he did not want he did not seek. Was he quite as stoic as he liked to think?
Now and then taking a bite of bread, he marched along the edge of one of the garden terraces and watched the sun spill molten light across the smooth water of the Marmara.
Cornelia would return. Theodora would not return. Justinian was the emperor but he was also a man coming to grips with the fact that he would never see his wife again.
John put off visiting Theodora’s quarters for an hour and still his steps slowed as he reluctantly approached their elaborate bronze doors. He rarely entered that part of the palace. The humid atmosphere reeked of exotic perfume and incense. To John it was like breathing the unhealthy miasma of a fetid swamp. The pallid, attenuated eunuchs who flitted everywhere filled him with revulsion.
While she lived, Theodora had made herself less accessible than the emperor, who pretended to a careless affability, willing to meet anyone, any time, at a heartbeat’s notice. By contrast, the empress fiercely protected her own realm. It was said even the emperor was not welcome there. But now she was gone, the guards at the doors and in the antechambers beyond seemed almost indifferent to John’s passage. Perhaps they were preoccupied with their own fates.
Once past the antechambers John entered a lavishly over-decorated world populated solely by women, eunuchs, and brightly costumed boys—court pages who served mostly, though not entirely, for decoration. A page smirkingly directed John to the rooms Theodora had given to Joannina and Anastasius, deep within the warren.
The girl John had glimpsed at Anatolius’ house—Vesta—opened the door at his knock.
Before he could speak, another slender blond girl padded barefoot through an archway leading into the vestibule. She wore nothing but a wisp of a white tunica that swung lightly yet managed to remain clinging to her with each step. “Oh! I was expecting Anastasius.”
John introduced himself.
“Naturally I recognize you, Lord Chamberlain.” Despite being half-dressed, she regarded him as unselfconsciously as a child. Or, John amended his thought, a much younger child than she actually was.
“Joannina, I wish to speak to your attendant Vesta. Afterwards, I will require a word with you.”
“Certainly.” The girl spoke as if conferring an honor.
John compared the two young women, mistress and attendant. At first glance Joannina resembled her mother. She had Antonina’s strikingly pale hair, the same brilliant blue eyes, the strong chin. A closer look revealed the differences, partly due to age. Less of her smile needed to be painted on. Her skin was not layered to rigidity with powder. But she was naturally slighter of build. Her fingers were long and slim, not plump. Facially she favored her father. She had Belisarius’ longer, narrow features, his straight nose and gaunt cheeks.
Vesta was a poor sketch of her mistress although about the same age. Joannina was willowy. Vesta was gangly. Her hair was light, but a mousy brown. Her straight nose was too long, her cheekbones were high but overly prominent. Her strong chin jutted forward a little too far, as did two front teeth when she smiled at her mistress. John had no doubt she avoided smiling as much as possible.
“We will speak outside,” he ordered, a precaution ensuring they were less likely to be overheard.
Vesta led him to an interior courtyard filled with a bewildering variety of vegetation registered by John’s nonbotanical mind as possessing interesting foliage and bright flowers. At the far end, several tiers of wide steps led down to an ornamental pool. He wondered whether it was meant to evoke the terraced gardens descending to the sea. No doubt this served as a concealed garden for the residents of Theodora’s quarters.
He and Vesta sat on a bench beside a marble table shaded by a red and white striped awning. The table was long enough to accommodate a banquet.
Vesta sat very straight as John questioned her about Theodora’s final days.
“Only two of us were favored to attend our dear empress. Myself and Kuria.”
“You brought Theodora fruit?” John asked, remembering what Kuria had told him.
“I did. The empress couldn’t digest it but Joannina—my mistress, that is—she insisted on sending it every day.”
“But you and Kuria ate the fruit?”
Vesta bit her lower lip. “What could I do, excellency? Bring her gift back? She would have cried if she knew Theodora was too ill to eat, and it breaks my heart to see my mistress cry.”
“How long have you attended Joannina?”
“Years and years. Since we were mere children.” The affection in her voice was evident.
“Where were you born, Vesta?”
“Why, Constantinople. My father is in the prefecture.” She gave her head a little toss, which perhaps she thought looked haughty. John imagined an aging, petty official, long stalled in his advancement, thrilled for his daughter to get closer to the imperial family than he ever could, if only as a lady in waiting to the daughter of the empress’ friend.
“You have been visiting the lawyer Anatolius.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Please don’t tell my mistress, excellency.”
“Your mistress did not send you?”
“Well, yes. But no one is supposed to know. If my mistress finds out someone saw me…”
“You’re fond of your mistress?”
“We are very close, Lord Chamberlain.”
“She must be concerned about her betrothal now that the empress is gone.”
Vesta bit her lip again. “I cannot speak against my mistress’ parents. A great lord and lady to be sure. But, oh, she is so vexed, she’s beside herself.”
“She is afraid her parents will stop her marriage to Anastasius?”
“She’s certain they will. It would be a tragedy, excellency. There’s never been another love like it. If you saw the two of them together…with Joannina and Anastasius it was love at first sight. She confessed that to me herself. They were made for each other. And he is so handsome. It breaks my heart to think about it.”
She pawed at her brimming eyes. John noticed her painted fingernails were badly gnawed. She suddenly burst into a torrent of passionate speech. “Let old dried-up women wag their nasty tongues about my mistress’ situation! I wish someone would imprison me with a wealthy and handsome aristocrat!”
John noticed a sparrow had built a nest where the striped awning was attached to one of the marble pillars holding it up. He watched the bird perched on the side of its nest while he gathered his thoughts.
He wasn’t surprised that young people might find it romantic to be forced to do what was usually forbidden. At their ages, he had been a wandering mercenary. He had grown up fast after he’d run away from Plato’s Academy and his philosophy studies. On the other hand, court youngsters were usually mature beyond their years in the ways of intrigue.
He would have taken his leave of Vesta but Joannina suddenly appeared, dressed in a seagreen stola, her hair coiled at the sides of her head with silver chains. She dismissed Vesta with a nod and the attendant scurried off.
“How can I help you, Lord Chamberlain?” Her voice was supercilious. She gave a toss of her head.
As John began to speak he was interrupted by another voice. Querulous. A man’s voice.
“What’s the eunuch doing here?”
Joannina turned. “Oh, Anastasius! It’s John, Justinian’s Lord Chamberlain. You must recognize him.” She looked sternly in the direction of the newcomer but John could detect the hint of a smile fighting to escape her frown.
“Is that who it is?” The man who strolled into the shadow of the awning—boy, rather—was exceptionally tall. If not for a pronounced slouch, the no doubt temporary result of recent, too rapid growth, he would have towered over John. His thick hair was sooty black, as black as Anatolius’ hair had once been, and his skin had a dusky color which reminded John of Hypatia, but was not as burnished as hers. Like Joannina, he had narrow features and a straight nose, although one that was more pronounced. In fact, he looked like a taller, darker version of his betrothed. He was painfully thin and still moved with youthful awkwardness. John guessed within a couple of years he would fill out and mature into a striking figure.
Already he was a striking figure to his betrothed. Joannina went to his side and raised her head to kiss his cheek, then put her arm around his waist and leaned against him. Anastasius looked down at her fondly, as a child might look at a prized toy. He put his arm around her and let his hand trail downward.
“Why are you dressed like that?” He asked her in the same grating whine he’d just used. “We were supposed to go riding. You promised.” He wore a short tunic over leather breeches.
“I didn’t expect to have an important visitor.” Joannina’s gaze darted to John.
Anastasius managed to take his own gaze off Joannina and stared at John as if he hadn’t really seen him up until now. “Sorry, sir. I thought you were just…well…there are so many around here…all tall and thin…or short and fat…”
“Now, Anastasius, really,” Joannina tutted.
John smiled to himself. It seemed obvious Joannina was not going to tell him anything useful while Anastasius was present to distract her. “Enjoy your ride before the heat sets in for the day.”
Joannina beamed with obvious relief. “Why, thank you, Lord Chamberlain.”
“We will talk soon,” added John.
Her face fell.
John left. He noticed the sparrow busily pecking at its nest, tidying up its grass and twigs, oblivious to the lives and loves and intrigues of the imperial court.