Ten for Dying (John the Lord Chamberlain Mysteries) (16 page)

Chapter Thirty-two

The javelin hissed past Felix’s shoulder and buried itself in the forehead of the figure sagging against Athena.

General Germanus, who had flung the weapon, strode across the flagstones to the statue of the goddess and admired his aim before yanking the projectile from the crudely painted face. Then he turned angrily toward Felix.

“Are you trying to kill yourself? You almost walked into my throw. Did you suppose I could call my javelin back once I’d let go of it? What are you doing here?”

“My apologies. I needed to see you urgently.”

Germanus stalked across the garden to the edge of the colonnade where another javelin lay, along with a bow and arrows. He was engaged in target practice with the dummy propped up against the statue of Athena. His enemy consisted of a faded garment stuffed with straw, now protruding from numerous wounds, and topped by a similarly stuffed sack on which were daubed simplistic representations of eyes, mouth, and nose.

“Haven’t I made it plain, captain, that when I need you I will summon you?”

“I wouldn’t have disturbed you if it wasn’t necessary, general. I find myself in certain difficulties.”

“This is of importance to me?”

Surely, thought Felix, Germanus must have heard about him being relieved of his command. Should he say anything about it? The javelin whistled past Felix again and thunked into the dummy. The shaft quivered, jutting from one painted eye.

“Could we possibly sit somewhere?”

Germanus walked past him to the target and jerked the javelin free. “Well,” he snapped, “are you just going to stand there like a stuffed tunic? I might mistake you for my target.” He placed the point of his javelin on Felix’s chest. “How did you get those cuts and bruises? Have you been brawling, or have you found a very spirited mistress?”

He grinned, showing his big, square teeth to the guards, who laughed in appreciation of his jest.

Felix felt his face grow hot.

“General, my only concern is to be ready to assist you when required. You told me you needed information that might be harmful to Belisarius. But presently, I fear I am being impeded due to certain…uh…certain circumstances, and I…”

Germanus laughed. “Do you think I require your assistance in convincing the emperor to remove Belisarius from his command? The word I have is the great coward is sailing up and down the coast, too frightened to land. He hasn’t taken his armies out of sight of the sea in years. He won’t fight without an escape ship at his back.”

Felix nodded. One didn’t disagree with Germanus. Yet the assistance of the captain of the excubitors was not to be lightly dismissed. Many powerful aristocrats and office holders would oppose Belisarius’ removal. Who could guess what lengths they would go to? Then too, once in charge of the Italian campaign, Germanus would need commanders personally loyal to him, with more reason to want him to succeed than to wish for the return of Belisarius.

But there was no point in Felix telling Germanus what he already knew. What he didn’t seem to know—or more likely knew but didn’t care about—was that Felix had lost his position. He must suppose that Felix still had the loyalty of his men. And now had a grudge to nurse, in addition to being desperate, and so might prove even more useful.

If so he would assist Felix.

He had to. Who else could?

“General, all I require is for you to have a word with the emperor or with Porphyrius, and the difficulty is solved.”

“Porphyrius? What’s he got to do with me?” Germanus turned his back and strode away toward the colonnade and the weapons piled there. Felix went after him. He caught up when the general stooped to exchange his javelin for the bow.

“Porphyrius has threatened to kill me.” He knew it was dangerous to make accusations about a wealthy and powerful man, but what choice did he have? John might have been in a strong enough position to assist Felix but he was far away.

Germanus’ expression did not change. He selected an arrow, placed it in the bow, and pulled back, testing, apparently more interested in the tautness of the string than Felix’s predicament. “You come to me to accuse a prominent and respected citizen of threatening your life? Why would Porphyrius do such a thing?”

Felix stared past Germanus toward the target. The dummy’s hideous painted face, straw bursting from its forehead and one dead black eye, might have been the half-formed visage of a devil. “It’s all a misunderstanding. He thinks I have the Virgin’s shroud.”

Germanus lowered his bow. “You’re mixed up in the theft?”

“Of course not.”

“But Porphyrius thinks you are?”

“Yes. Why, I don’t know.”

“So it is a minor matter. A few words will smooth it over?”

The tightness in Felix’s chest relaxed. “Yes. Exactly. I hesitated to tell you the whole story but I know you are a fair man.”

“And the little matter of you being thrown into the dungeons under suspicion of murder? That, I take it, is too insignificant to mention.”

The breath went out of Felix.

“Do you think I’m stupid, ex-captain? Do you imagine a man who drinks and gambles and mixes himself up in crimes, a man suspected by the emperor of murder, can be of any use to me?”

“But it’s not true. It’s a misunderstanding. A word from you and my position will be restored.”

Germanus showed his teeth in a snarling smile. “I thought it was you who was supposed to assist me. Get out of my sight, ex-captain. Leave the city immediately and never approach me again.”

Chapter Thirty-three

Everyone knows that demons breath darkness, which is why they need to keep to the shadows during the day, and why if one ventures into a demon’s lair it is best to do so during the daytime.

This common knowledge was the reason Dedi didn’t wait for night before invading Antonina’s mansion. He felt safer relieving its guard of his key and strolling through the back gate in the middle of the afternoon.

The guard was slumped on his stool making wheezing, grunting noises, dead to the world thanks to the potion the Egyptian magician had easily dropped into the inattentive fellow’s wine jug, the same potion he’d used to drug the doorkeeper of the mausoleum. Magicians were well practiced at sleight of hand.

As soon as Dedi was inside he slipped through the shrubbery around the exposed, sun-drenched courtyard. From outside, the trees visible above the high walls had made it obvious most of the grounds behind the mansion consisted of gardens. He peered out at the courtyard. Short as he was, there was no need for him to crouch to keep his head below the carefully trimmed greenery. A servant emerged to empty a bucket of water.

Dedi loped away, keeping to the shelter of ornamental bushes, flower beds, arbors, and clusters of tall, frond-like grasses. Scattered vegetation cast light shade here and there, but insufficient for a demon to breath properly. He was not surprised to see Antonina’s garden featured a large collection of satyrs in all shapes and sizes, in granite, marble, bronze, copper, and porphyry, every material imaginable except flesh and fur. Or so he hoped.

What resembled a miniature Greek temple jutted from the back of the house. The roses blooming nearby did not quite conceal the smells of herbs, incense, and smoke emanating from the peculiar structure. There were other odors, strange and pungent, evidence of substances that Dedi knew should never be coaxed into existence. This no doubt was Antonina’s workshop, where she brewed the nostrums she gave to her wealthy friends—and also practiced her magick.

Dedi’s fish-like mouth puckered in disapproval. Why did the rich insist on dabbling at what others needed to do to earn a living?

Not far away, he located the servants’ entrance to the main house.

This was the place he needed to access, the servants’ quarters, where the demon disguised as Tychon lurked.

He pulled a small clay pot from his robe, unstopped it, and shook some of its contents, a fine gray dust, in the doorway. Then he knelt and traced an intricate pattern in the dust with his forefinger while reciting an incantation.

Dedi had concocted the magickal substance by burning Tychon’s woven belt, stolen at the baths, and combining the ashes with several ingredients. The ingredients, it was true, could be purchased at any number of shops along the Mese, but one needed to know the precise amounts and combinations and the guttural words of the incantation had never before been heard in Constantinople.

At least by human ears.

When he was finished Dedi stood and scuffed at the pattern, obliterating merely its physical presence, then moved silently into the house. There was no sign of anyone, so he continued to cast spells in each doorway he came to until his pot was empty.

Laughter shrilled from around a corner of the corridor.

Dedi tucked the pot back into his garment and skittered off, unheard and unseen.

Now he only needed to wait. As soon as Tychon passed through one of the doorways, the spell would encircle him as surely as the belt had encircled his waist and the demon would be in thrall to the diminutive Egyptian.

Dedi found a well-concealed spot beneath a huge clump of rose bushes, lay down on the soft earth, and dozed.

Chapter Thirty-four

Felix lay flat on his back, gazing upward.

His bed was a ship caught in a maelstrom. The fluffy clouds on the ceiling whirled madly, the pretty painted birds circled like vultures. His stomach heaved but there was nothing left to eject. He gagged and choked.

Anastasia, perched on the edge of the bed, mopped his burning forehead with a damp cloth. She picked up a green glass bottle from the table beside her. “Here’s one of the potions Antonina supplied.”

She slid her free hand behind Felix’s head, pushing it up as she lowered the bottle toward his mouth.

He flailed his arm weakly. “No. It’s her poisons did this to me. I won’t take any more of them.”

“Silly bear! It’s those kicks to your head. You shouldn’t have been running all over the city so soon afterwards. Now take this.”

He opened his mouth to protest again and she poured the contents of the bottle between his lips. He spluttered. Some dribbled out over his beard. She dabbed it up with her forefinger, then thrust the finger into his mouth. “Let’s not waste any.”

She released his head and he settled back, defeated. “What do you know about getting kicked in the head anyway?”

“You gave me a pretty good kick in the head the other night when we were—”

“True, but I wasn’t wearing boots at the time.”

Anastasia placed the bottle back with several companions. “You need to stay in bed for a day or two.”

“Impossible. I have to find that relic. No one has come after it yet?”

“No.”

“You should leave, Anastasia. If you’re here when they finally show up, you’ll be in as much danger as I am.”

“Which is to say, no danger at all. Why would Porphyrius kill you if he really thinks you have the relic hidden? Then he’d never be able to get his hands on it, would he?”

“Tell that to the fellow they hanged.”

“They didn’t hang you, did they?”

Felix closed his eyes to blot out the careening ceiling. He had to get back to work. Unfortunately to do so meant he would have to stand up first, and to stand up, sad to say, he had to manage to sit up. It was all so complicated. “I can’t just lie here and wait for a knock at the door.”

“You’re not capable of anything else right now. That potion will have you on your feet soon enough. Rest.”

“I wish I could. Now I’ve made an enemy of Germanus too.”

“Nonsense. He needs the captain of the excubitors on his side. He just enjoys bullying people.”

“How is it you know General Germanus?”

Anastasia shoved a pillow under Felix’s shoulders. “Try to sit up.”

To his surprise he managed to lever himself up slightly and risked opening his eyes a slit. The room looked a bit more stable. “Ah. Good.”

Anastasia handed him a silver chain from which was suspended an engraved carnelian. “Hang this around your neck. The symbols on the stone are magickal.”

Felix slipped the chain over his head, alongside his cross. He tapped at the chain bearing the latter. “Will that charm get along with—”

“Antonina knows what she’s doing. Ask all the men she’s bewitched.”

“They don’t necessarily know they’re bewitched, though, do they?”

“Oh, my. Are you thinking about that time—”

“Isn’t that what you were referring to? But let’s forget it.” He couldn’t help recalling his own long ago encounter with Belisarius’ wanton wife, which Anastasia seemed to have guessed. The last thing he needed in his state was an argument.

Anastasia giggled suddenly.

He looked at her as sharply. “What’s so funny? You’re not picturing me and—-”

“You do feel guilty, don’t you? This talk about potions reminded me. Antonina said her servants had been stealing wine. So she added a little something that would cause the thief to reveal himself, and teach him never to do it again.” She covered her mouth to stifle further giggles.

“I wouldn’t care to work in that house! But how do you come to know Antonina so well? She was great friends with Theodora. Is that it? Is Antonina acquainted with all of Theodora’s attendants?”

Anastasia stopped giggling and looked at him in a way he’d never seen before. Totally perplexed. “You great oaf! You really don’t know, do you? And I thought you simply wanted it left unsaid.”

Felix stared at her in bewilderment. The room was no longer spinning but he felt even more disoriented. “Don’t know what? Didn’t want anything said about what?”

She bent over and playfully kissed the tip of his nose. “I’m not a lady-in-waiting or any kind of attendant. I’m Theodora’s sister.”

Chapter Thirty-five

“Why are you looking so shocked, Felix? You know that Theodora had sisters.”

“Anastasia is such a common name. Anyone could make the same mistake. I’ve seen Comita at the palace from time to time but—”

“I avoid the court and in particular public ceremonies, They are both so terribly boring.” Anastasia dropped onto the bed next to Felix. The bed’s motion sent a shot of pain through his side. “I’m still the same woman.”

Felix tried to avoid wincing. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew and did not want it mentioned. As I said.”

Her tone didn’t sound convincing. Felix was about to say as much when she grabbed his beard, pulled his face toward her, and gave him a lengthy kiss.

“There. Do my kisses taste different?”

“No,” he admitted.

But now he was afraid the honey concealed a bitter poison.

“You’re worried it isn’t safe to be involved with Theodora’s sister, even if the empress is dead. That’s it, isn’t it?”

As always she seemed to read his thoughts. Felix ran his tongue nervously over his lips and said nothing.

“Remember, you aren’t a common soldier. You’re the commander of the excubitors, the imperial guard.”

“Was the commander, you mean.”

Anastasia waved her hand dismissively. “The trouble with you is you don’t have the courage of your ambitions. You’re too loyal.”

“Justinian prizes loyalty.”

“And where has it got you?”

Felix grunted. “Right now I’m not concerned about getting anywhere. Just remaining out of the dungeons is enough.”

“As soon as you’re rested and healed, you’ll be longing for the battlefields of Italy again.”

“A few hours ago I was sure I’d be dead by now, or if not, wishing I were.” A chill went down his back as he thought again of passing through the room full of torture instruments.

“If you don’t stop getting your humors deranged you’ll kill yourself without any help from Justinian or Porphyrius. You don’t look well at all. Just look at the backs of your hands.’

“Yes, I know, Anatolius pointed out the same thing. What am I supposed to do? I’m in grave danger, and so are you. We must proceed with great caution.”

“Me? In danger? Hardly! Did it not occur to you that in your current predicament you are extremely fortunate to have the empress’ sister for a lover? Do you think I can’t protect you? Who do you suppose spoke with Justinian after he’d ordered you hauled off to the dungeons? Who told the senator to engage Anatolius?”

Felix looked away from her. “I see. The empress’ sister is even allowed to throw hot coals at guards if it amuses her. And to think, I feared—”

Anastasia placed a finger on his lips. “Hush. I’m sorry if you were afraid for me.”

“You’ve been playing with me, Anastasia!” The words burst from Felix. “All I am to you is a…captive bear. Like the one Theodora kept in her menagerie.”

“That’s cruel, Felix.”

“And how can I be sure you don’t know who the courier was? How can I be sure it wasn’t you who—”

“Don’t even think such a thing! And if I knew anything, wouldn’t I tell you? Maybe I can find out who the dead man was.” Anastasia put her arms around him. Reflexively he tried to draw away.

“Please, Felix. Don’t turn against me. If I could erase my birth to please you, I would. But what does it matter? Isn’t it obvious that I’m your slave? Is there anything a servant girl could give you that I haven’t?”

“It’s not…it’s just that…well…” He let his voice trail off. How could he tell her he felt humiliated, having been saved by a woman. Grateful, certainly. Relieved. But nevertheless humiliated. “I need to speak to Nikomachos,” he said instead.

“About what?”

“That cloak Narses claimed was found in the servants’ quarters. I want Nikomachos to question the staff. I’m sure Narses supplied the cloak himself, but Anatolius is of the opinion one of the servants might have stolen it.”

“Without bothering to tell you there was a dead body in the courtyard?”

“Thieves who rob corpses are not noted for their honesty.”

“You might ask him to conduct his own search. In case the guards overlooked something else that might have been stolen. That might give away the courier’s identity. If you trust Nikomachos…more than you seem to trust me.”

“Nikomachos has been with me for years. He’s perfectly trustworthy. Servants tend to be light fingered, but with only one arm he’s twice as honest as most.”

“Perhaps you would have more faith in me if I had only one arm,” Anastasia sniffed. “I’ll go and get him. He should have looked in here to see if his master required his services. I’m not that frightening, am I?” Without waiting for a reply Anastasia left Felix alone with his thoughts.

They made for very poor company.

He felt dazed. Theodora’s sister! Thank Mithra, or the Lord, or whatever deity wouldn’t take offense, that the empress was dead. Even so…

Anastasia was gone much longer than Felix would have expected. Did she have to search the house to find a servant who was supposed to be nearby, ready to attend to Felix’s every wish?

Finally she returned, looking grim.

“Nikomachos isn’t here. I looked everywhere, asked the whole staff. No one has seen him all day!”

“He might have gone to see if he could do anything for me.”

Anastasia’s lips tightened. “That’s not the first explanation that would have sprung to my mind. However, we will know soon enough if your servant has run off, for whatever reason. In the meantime I’ve had an idea.”

She came over the bed and held out a torn bit of cloth the size of her palm.

Felix looked at it without comprehension. “What is that?”

“Part of the Virgin’s shroud.” She shook it insistently in his face.

He took the scrap from her, holding it gingerly between his thumb and forefinger as if it might come alive and bite him. His heart raced. “What do you mean? Is there more you haven’t told me? It looks like, well, just a bit of rag.”

Anastasia put a hand to her mouth to muffle a laugh.

Felix’s simply gaped at the cloth, holding it at arms-length. “I don’t understand, Anastasia.”

“I tore it off a cleaning cloth. It’s part of that relic everyone is seeking.”

“What? My servant’s been cleaning with the Virgin’s shroud?”

Anastasia snatched the rag back. “Of course not, foolish bear! But from now on, we pretend it’s been torn off the relic.”

“Lie about it?”

“Of course. I know you are more comfortable with brute force but a lie is more effective than a sword here in the capital.”

He eyed the rag dubiously. “And how am I supposed to use this weapon?”

“To start negotiations with Porphyrius. I’m certain once he sees it he’ll be willing to come to an accommodation with you. Especially when you explain that you will continue to bring him pieces until he agrees to terms. Or until the shroud ceases to exist.”

***

Porphyrius’ laughter boomed around the stables behind his mansion. “You expect me to believe this piece of rag is from the Virgin’s shroud?”

“If you want the shroud returned you have no other choice.” Felix kept his voice calm. It was a struggle, particularly since the great charioteer had designed the frontage of his private stables to resemble the starting gates in the Hippodrome. The beating and threats Felix had suffered in the latter were still fresh in his memory and on his flesh.

Besides, he had never been a good liar.

Porphyrius returned the scrap of cloth to Felix and rubbed his fingers briskly on his leather breeches. “But I don’t want the shroud returned. I have nothing to do with the unfortunate theft. I have explained that to you already.”

“Then why did you agree to speak with me?”

There was no reply. Porphyrius stamped across the hard-packed dirt, stopping at a gate to look into the stall beyond.

Felix followed, determined to extract some admission. Anastasia had brought him around to her way of thinking. It was safer to allow Porphyrius to think he had the relic. If he convinced the charioteer that he, in fact, had no idea where it was, Porphyrius might very well have him killed for knowing too much about his affairs. But Porphyrius wouldn’t dare kill the only person who might lead him to the relic, would he?

Felix leaned on the gate beside Porphyrius. From within the stables came the odor of hay and horses but the stall was empty. The charioteer had been staring at nothing. Pondering the offer, perhaps?

“We’re both familiar with the races,” Felix said. “We both know something about gambling. If you choose to believe what I showed you wasn’t torn off the shroud, you’re free to do so. But we both know that’s a losing bet, either way. If you’re right, and I don’t know where the relic is, I can’t retrieve it for you. On the other hand, if I am telling the truth—and I am—then I will destroy the relic in stages, as I described to you, unless we come to terms.”

“Perhaps you should tell all this to whoever it was threatened you the other night.”

“Tell a gang of anonymous Blues? Where do I find them? I’m sure you can identify them more readily than I can.”

Porphyrius’ face remained impassive but muscles tightened in the massive forearms leaning on the gate. “You’re hardly in a position to harass me about this, are you, Felix? I could offer you a job cleaning my stables if you’re looking for work.”

Felix shrugged. “We both know Justinian is prone to sudden whims.”

Porphyrius pushed himself away from the stall and nodded toward the guard stationed in a corner of the enclosure. The man, who had been watching the conversation, shifted his lance and strode over. “My servant will see you out.”

Felix looked down at the scrap in his hand then closed his fist around it. “When you want to talk about obtaining the rest of this, let me know.”

He left, deep in thought. Had he made the desired impression on the charioteer? If he had succeeded in buying himself time, what happened if time ran out again before he found the relic?