Nine for the Devil

by Mary Reed

  “You mean during the last days? Just myself and Vesta. She is lady-in-waiting to Joannina, Lady Antonina’s daughter. After Theodora moved Joannina and Anastasius into rooms in her personal quarters Vesta began visiting the empress, reporting on them. Especially when Theodora became too sick to visit the young couple herself. The empress wanted to be assured they were getting on well.”

  “I understand the empress took a great interest in their betrothal.”

  “Yes. Toward the end, Vesta spent as much time serving Theodora as serving Joannina. She always brought fruit but the empress could never eat it. We ate it instead. We took turns sitting outside Theodora’s door in case something had to be fetched or our mistress needed assistance of an intimate nature.”

  Vesta. John recalled the name. Hadn’t the client who had arrived to see Anatolius been called Vesta? “Describe Vesta.”

  Kuria’s description matched the girl John had glimpsed at Anatolius’ house.

  John looked across the garden. The sun had disappeared behind the trees. White poppies glimmered as if they retained some fading remnant of the sunlight.

  It appeared he would have to look further afield than visitors to the sickroom to find the culprit.

  The imperial cook had every reason to hope Theodora continued to live, assuming he had been allowed to live this long. Given Justinian had ordered all the empress’ guards executed, the cook was probably dead now as well. As for poor Kuria, about to be set adrift, she had gained nothing but misery by Theodora’s demise.

  As for Vesta, her mistress Joannina was besotted by Theodora’s grandson Anastasius. Yes, “besotted” was the word everyone at the palace used, Cornelia had told him. On the other hand it was common knowledge that Joannina’s parents were against the fast-approaching marriage. The last thing Joannina would want was for Theodora, her matchmaker and protector, to die and permit Antonina and Belisarius to have their way.

  “Is Vesta fond of her mistress?”

  “Oh, yes indeed, excellency. She wanted to be like her in every way. She’d dab Joannina’s perfume behind her ears. She thought Anastasius so handsome. She was always saying what a romantic couple he and her mistress made.” Kuria buried her face in her hands. “She will be thrown out too, excellency. When her parents take Joannina away from Anastasis, Vesta will be as homeless as I am.”

  The girl sat on the bench sobbing. John supposed there was nothing more she could tell him. It seemed callous to get up and leave her alone. Yet what could he do to comfort her?

  He would have to talk to Vesta and her mistress Joannina. Anatolius had quoted poetry denouncing bad marriages just before Vesta arrived. Was the subject on his mind from a legal perspective? If Antonina and Belisarius wanted to thwart Joannina’s marriage they might well have another match in mind for her. A bad one by Joannina’s reckoning, no doubt. Perhaps Vesta was fetching legal advice and papers from Anatolius on behalf of Joannina.

  Quite aside from that, it seemed clear those best positioned to be used as tools by a murderer all desperately needed the empress to go on living.

  Now it was so dark the clipped animals were fading into the gloom. John could still see the bear. Its snarling mouth appeared to be forming a silent laugh. Was it laughing at the impossibility of the task John faced?

  The sound of a light step, and a woman appeared through the archway. She carried a basket brimming with greenery. Startled, she glanced at Kuria and then looked up at John.

  “Hypatia! I have been looking for you.”

  Chapter Nine

  “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.

  Chapter Ten

  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.