by Mary Reed
“It is true that in his youth Anatolius penned some foolish lines. We all do foolish things when we are young,” John replied.
Justinian’s voice verged on a snarl. “To think his filth has been sniggered over for years while my dear Theodora did so much for so many. Such foul sentiments…I read the entire poem…it revealed his hatred of the empress as surely as if he had announced it at her door. Yes, it is obvious to me his was the hand that was responsible for her poisoning.”
“The evidence is most convincing, excellency,” Narses agreed.
John had never heard Justinian speak with such anger. It might have been a different man than the outwardly imperturbable emperor with whom he was accustomed to dealing. Was Justinian’s uncontrolled fury a measure of his love for Theodora? “What of the lady-in-waiting who possessed the poem?”
“Unfortunately she was dismissed from the palace following her mistress’ death. However, she will be quickly found to pay for her part in the monstrous crime.”
“She is accused of conspiracy with Anatolius?” John asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Narses said. “It’s plain from her possession of this handwritten poem that she knows Anatolius. Given the man’s well-known proclivities, it seems certain they were having an affair. It is obvious he must have given her the poison, knowing she had access to the empress.”
Justinian lowered his voice to an icy hiss. “Theodora took that vile creature, a former prostitute, and elevated her to a position of trust as one of her own ladies-in-waiting. And see how she was repaid for her kindness, for her faith in humanity.”
“Shall I seek the girl out?”
“Do nothing further in this matter, Lord Chamberlain,” Justinian’s voice was cold as death. “I set you the task of finding a murderer. Was it so difficult to find that the culprit was Theodora’s lady-in-waiting, the one person who saw Theodora most often while she was ill? Leave me, Lord Chamberlain. If I require your services, I will summon you.”
Chapter Fifty-five
John was hardly aware of leaving the reception hall. His feet carried him out to the dark palace grounds while his thoughts leapt this way and that.
Dismissed by the emperor, surely he was free to go after Cornelia?
He could gallop off to Zeno’s estate.
And yet why should she disappear? The only reason he could think of was because of something transpiring in the city.
Something connected with Theodora’s death and John’s futile investigations.
Besides which, by the time John reached the estate, Anatolius would have become another victim of Justinian’s unfocused rage, as dead as Theodora’s cook, the guards outside the room where Theodora had died, her physician Gaius…
Before he realized it John had strode through the Chalke Gate and was on his way to Anatolius’ house.
He fixed his mind on his friend’s peril. A disinterested magistrate might indeed find Anatolius guilty of arranging Theodora’s death. Judging from the poem found in Kuria’s room, he had been secretly involved with one of those nearest to the empress, a trusted lady-in-waiting who could have easily administered poison. He had also advised the Cappadocian, who gave every indication of plotting with General Germanus. What reward might a lawyer expect upon Germanus’ accession to power, now or later? He might well be appointed Quaestor—the emperor’s legal advisor—or be elevated to some other position in the consistory.
Lord Chamberlain, perhaps.
Wasn’t this the very sort of connection John had been seeking? A person with much to gain who could reach Theodora through one of those close to her?
Yet facts and logic could not instantly overcome years of close friendship.
Bits of colored glass could be put together one way to form a picture of a demon, whereas in a different combination they might show an angel instead.
Excubitors stood guard at the narrow way leading to Anatolius’ house and at its gate. The few passers-by who hurried through the torch-lit darkness took little notice of the situation and in many cases quickened their steps, anxious to leave the area before they became unwillingly involved in the trouble obviously roosting on the house roof.
John was admitted to the courtyard. A group of frightened servants huddled together outside the house. As John arrived, Felix stepped from the doorway. His fierce scowl deepened on seeing John.
With a slight warning nod toward the guards he drew John through the gate out their earshot and growled, “You’re too late to warn him, my friend. He’s gone.”
“Thank Mithra for that! He wasn’t at home when you arrived?”
“He was, but unfortunately my men were not exactly discreet as they approached.” Felix gave a brief smile. “He must have heard us coming and managed to escape from the back.”
It occurred to John that Felix was equally involved with Germanus and the Cappadocian, so he had every reason to allow Anatolius—possibly a co-conspirator—to slip away, quite apart from their friendship.
“No guards were posted at the back of the house?”
“An oversight, I am afraid, Lord Chamberlain,” Felix replied with a wink. “We’ll find him before too long.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“I’ll arrange search parties, but first I must question the servants.”
“Your procrastination will cause you trouble later on, Felix.”
Felix shrugged. “Personally, I don’t believe Anatolius has anything to do with your investigation. Any more than I do. In fact, I—”
He bit off his words as a man dressed in clothing announcing his trade to be that of a laborer approached them.
“Yes?” Felix barked at the new arrival.
“I saw a man running away from here, sirs. I work in the Copper Quarter and I was passing behind the back of the house on my way to—”
“Never mind your life story! What about this man you say you saw?” Felix interrupted.
“He was in such a hurry I thought perhaps he had been caught thieving. Then I realized he was well-dressed and the well-dressed never run about, do they, sirs? They always have servants to do that for them. Anyhow, it looked so strange I followed him to see where he was going, so I could come back to tell the owner of the house. But seeing the guards I thought it best to report to you first.”
“Well?” Felix demanded.
“He ran into the Great Church. Is there a reward for telling you where he is, sirs?”
Chapter Fifty-six
Entering the light-filled building, John stood under a many-pillared gallery and glanced around the huge space under the soaring, many-windowed dome. Light from lamps suspended from the ceiling, set in wall niches, and on tripods, touched the silver seats used by priests and the gold and gem encrusted altar set with richly-decorated sacred vessels. Columns of polished green and white and purple marble pointed colorful fingers to glowing mosaics overhead.
John did not see Anatolius.
Those who sought sanctuary—which surely was Anatolius’ intention—often placed themselves beside the baptismal font.
He returned to the narthex and strode quickly along a wide corridor, his boots slapping noisily on the floor’s enormous polished marble slabs. At the end of the corridor he passed through the Vestibule of the Warriors, where guards were stationed when the emperor was in attendance inside the church. Felix had positioned a number of his excubitors there to prevent Anatolius from slipping away into the night.
The baptistery sat just beyond the vestibule’s exit.
John stepped into the high-domed octagonal room. Lamplight sparkled on jeweled crosses adorning the outer sides of the font. Waist high and the length of two men, it had been carved from a solid block of marble.
John spotted Anatolius sitting halfway down the steps descending into the basin. He hunkered down at
the top of the steps. “Is this what we’ve come to, Anatolius? A Mithran seeking Christian sanctuary?”
“What could I do, rush to the palace and hide in the mithraeum? I doubt I’ll be safe here for long.”
“Felix has the church surrounded but he won’t drag you out. He takes his orders from Justinian, and the emperor respects the sanctity of churches.” He didn’t add Felix was even more likely to respect Anatolius’ taking refuge at the font, since the excubitor captain might himself be baptized in it before long.
The thought reminded John of Peter’s plea that he accept the Christian god. He could not imagine immersing himself in the enormous font, as if he were stepping into a bath at the Zeuxippos. What a pathetic way to acknowledge allegiance to a god.
Fortunately for Anatolius, the font was currently dry.
“I am not sure how long Justinian will recognize my right of asylum,” Anatolius said. “The laws specifically bar homicides, adulterers, and ravishers of virgins from enjoying the right, but treason is also a heinous crime.”
“Why did you run, Anatolius?”
“I had no choice. When Felix arrived with excubitors I realized he wasn’t visiting to arrest my cook, even if he does habitually burn the fish.” He forced a bleak smile.
“Flight always gives the appearance of guilt.”
“The excubitors were slow in approaching the house and made too much noise. Felix was intentionally warning me, giving me time to get away.”
“You don’t know why he was ordered to arrest you?”
“What does it matter? If Felix considered it prudent for me to escape, I wasn’t going to question his judgment. Every day someone vanishes. If I’d lingered to ask what the charges were I’d be dead by now.”
John couldn’t argue with that.
Anatolius was leaning back against the font’s inner wall. Light hit the top of his head, accentuating his gray hair. The shadows falling across his face deeply sculpted each incipient wrinkle in his tired, sagging features. John suspected he was seeing what Anatolius would look like as an old man.
Provided he reached old age.
John was not certain he could offer any useful counsel. He recounted what Justinian had told him about the poem found in Kuria’s room.
Anatolius’ grim laugh reverberated in the dry basin. “The follies of our youth come back to haunt us! That cursed poem! Written so long ago and now come to collect payment!”
“It was more than foolish of you to give it to Theodora’s lady-in-waiting.”
“Kuria wasn’t a lady-in-waiting when I first met her, John. Far from it. She was one of Isis’ girls. It’s touching she kept that little scribble so long.”
For a few heartbeats John could say nothing. He remembered what Isis had told him about Kuria’s frequent visitor. Had Isis got it wrong? Had it been Anatolius, not Felix, who had sought Kuria out years earlier?
In response to John’s query Anatolius hung his head. “Yes, for a time I was obsessed with the girl.”
If Anatolius had not been seeing Kuria recently—as Justinian and everyone involved had inferred from her possession of the poem—then he could not have convinced her to poison Theodora to further his ambitions. Ambitions that had also merely been inferred from his involvement with the Cappadocian, and through him, Germanus.
The entire complicated edifice of his friend’s guilt collapsed.
“When did you last see Kuria?”
“I don’t remember, exactly. It was a long time ago.”
“Not within the past few weeks?”
“Not for years. I never had reason to venture into Theodora’s part of the palace. I didn’t even know Kuria was living there.”
“Are you being truthful with me this time?”
“You know I’m always…yes. Yes. This time I am telling you the truth. Ask Kuria.”
“I wish I could. She’s been banished from the palace. Justinian has ordered her found.” John got to his feet. “I’ll escort you to him. We’ll explain the situation.”
“Why would he believe what I say if he’s convinced I conspired to murder his wife? I think not, John. I’d rather stay here.”
“You’ll only be safe here until Justinian loses patience.”
“That’s probably longer than I would have if I were in his clutches.”
“You’re probably right. I’ll try to find Kuria. Justinian might take her word if he comes to his senses sufficiently to remember how much Theodora trusted the girl.”
Chapter Fifty-seven
John was used to being out in the city at night. It held no fears for him. This night felt different. There was a sinister aspect to the shadows. He had the feeling if the sun were to suddenly rise dark forms would be revealed as something other than the familiar buildings and colonnades and monuments he knew during the daytime.
Where in this strange place could Kuria have gone?
When she spoke to John in the palace gardens she was terrified of being thrown out into the streets. Clearly she did not have a plan. If she finally had decided on a destination, who at court would know? What friends would she have had at the palace?
Vesta, John thought. The young women had served Theodora together. Perhaps Kuria had confided in Vesta.
John’s house was all but on his way to the womens’ quarters. He couldn’t pass nearby without checking on Peter, although there was nothing he could do for him, nor, he remembered with a pang, was there anything he could do about finding Cornelia at present.
As he came around the side of the barracks opposite the house he passed a portly, youngish man dressed in the elaborate robes of the clergy.
Why would he be out at this hour unless…
A haggard-looking Hypatia greeted John at the door. “The physician said there was nothing to do but send for a clergyman,” she said. Her voice sounded strained but calm. Resigned. Her shoulders were slumped, her normally lively eyes dull.
“Peter is still alive?”
“He woke before the physician got here. It seems it is only a matter of time. He’s asleep now. The physician said when he slept again, he would not wake up.”
John made no effort to step inside. “I am likely to be away all night, Hypatia. Anatolius is under suspicion. He’s taken sanctuary in the Great Church.”
“No,” Hypatia said “Oh, no.” Her words came out in a choked whisper, as if she had found her ability to express grief exhausted.
“You understand, I would stay with Peter but Anatolius needs my help.”
“If you want to save Anatolius, why don’t you accuse Antonina of the murder? She’s an evil woman. How many poisonings has she got away with? Or you could accuse someone else who has escaped justice.”
“I could not lie,” John said stiffly. “Especially with a person’s life at stake.”
“But what about Anatolius? Isn’t his life at stake?”
Her vehemence surprised John. Did she harbor some affection for Anatolius so long after he had been trying to attract her without apparent success?
“I will see that Anatolius comes to no harm without making a liar of myself, Hypatia.”
Her eyes suddenly came alive. “Better that Anatolius die than you should say something that isn’t true. For that matter, you would see an old man go to his grave agonizing over your soul—berating himself that he could not save you from the fires of hell—rather than uttering a few comforting words that would make you a liar.”
“You were eavesdropping on our conversation!”
“Not intentionally. I simply waited outside Peter’s door. I couldn’t help hearing what he said. You could have pretended to agree to his final request. After his lifetime of loyalty, what would it have cost you? But, no. You have to adhere to your principles. You always have to be superior, better than other men. A
nd why is that, because you know you aren’t really—”
“That’s enough! I know you are distraught, Hypatia, but you have forgotten your position. I regret I will not be able to employ you after this outburst.”
Hypatia drew herself up and looked John in the face. A smile trembled on her lips. “Would you have me depart immediately then and leave my dying husband unattended?”
“Husband?”
“Yes. The clergyman who visited Peter married us.”
Chapter Fifty-eight
A marriage between Hypatia and the gravely ill Peter was absurd. Even if he were not dying, Peter was twice Hypatia’s age, but John had no time to dwell on the news.
He brushed by the guards at the entrance to Joannina’s quarters. Recognizing the Lord Chamberlain, they stood aside.
Anastasius did not.
The tall, skinny young man appeared from an inner chamber, straightening his tunic, black hair rumpled. “What do you think you’re doing harassing us in the middle of the night?” he shouted. “We’ve had enough of this!”
“I am here on the emperor’s business.”
The young man clenched his fists.
“Anastasius! Stop!” Joannina, emerging from their room, placed a restraining hand on his arm. “What do you want at this hour, Lord Chamberlain?”
“Direct me to Vesta’s room. I wish to speak to her.”
Before Joannina could answer, her lady-in-waiting emerged groggily from another room
“I heard raised voices,” she said. “What…” Seeing John she fell silent.
John noted Vesta wore the same kind of light blue tunica her mistress was wearing. “Why are you here, Vesta? I thought you lived with the other attendants?”
“The excubitors turned her room into a shambles,” Joannina said. “Besides, she’s too uneasy to stay there, since they’ve violated the place. I gave her one of our spare rooms.”