Nine for the Devil

by Mary Reed

  “Only until we find her a more suitable place,” Anastasius said, sounding petulant. “She won’t be staying here long.”

  John wasn’t surprised Vesta was upset, considering what she had been through. “Do you have any idea where Kuria might have gone?” he asked her.

  “Kuria? She was ordered to leave the palace after—”

  “Did she tell you where she intended to stay?”

  Vesta shook her head.

  “Did she ever speculate about what she might do if she had to leave? Did she mention friends in the city?”

  “I…I don’t remember, excellency.”

  “Are you satisfied?” snapped Anastasius. “If so, we’ll return to our beds. If you want to pursue this, come back tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow will be too late. The emperor seeks to arrest Anatolius. Your lawyer.”

  Vesta let out a small cry of distress.

  “What do mean our lawyer?” barked Anastasius. “Who is this Anatolius?”

  Vesta drew her clasped hands up to her face in a gesture of prayer.

  John addressed Joannina. “Please take Anastasius back to your room. I must speak to Vesta alone.”

  Anastasius’ took an angry step forward but Joannina’s hand tightened on his arm and she gave it a tug. “Come, Anastasius. The Lord Chamberlain is working for Justinian. We don’t need to anger the emperor.”

  Anastasius glared at John long enough to preserve his dignity, then relented and followed Joannina away, grumbling and throwing venomous looks back over his narrow shoulder.

  Vesta began to blubber. “Where is Anatolius? What will happen to him? Is he safe?”

  “For now. He’s taken sanctuary in the Great Church. But I must find Kuria. Justinian believes she poisoned Theodora on Anatolius’ orders.”

  Vesta shook her head wildly. “Oh, no. He would never do that, never! He had nothing to do with Kuria! Not for years and years.”

  “He was telling me the truth? He hadn’t been seeing her recently?”

  “No. And I would know. Kuria and I were friends.”

  John detected coldness in her tone. “You weren’t going to Anatolius’ house for legal advice on behalf of your mistress, were you, Vesta? You were trying to gain Anatolius’ attentions.”

  She caught her lower lip under her oversize front teeth and nodded morosely.

  What he had already guessed had become certain to John when he saw Vesta wore the same sort of blue tunica to bed as Joannina. Vesta had come to the palace from a relatively modest background and being a naive girl, idolized her mistress. She considered the relationship between Joannina and Anastasius the height of romance. She wanted to emulate Joannina in every way, not just in dress. Anatolius had somehow drawn her attention. He was a romantic figure—not the grandson of an empress perhaps, but the son of a senator and a handsome man whose poems still circulated at court. That he was too old for Vesta simply added a spice of impropriety to the sought-after affair, giving it the same illicit savor as her mistress’ romance.

  “Anatolius did not return your attentions?”

  She said nothing, but the tears that welled up in her eyes answered for her.

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  As John crossed the Augustaion and approached the Great Church he saw light pouring from the baptistery. He pushed through the excubitors in the Warriors’ Vestibule, sensing tension among the men. Muttered conversations were too loud, lances and swords were grasped too tightly.

  All the lamps in the octagonal chamber where Anatolius had sought refuge were lit. It was as bright as midday. A variety of churchmen had congregated and stood in a double ring around the font.

  The diminutive figure of Narses emerged from a knot of excubitors near the doorway and moved in John’s direction, a shadowy demon sliding along the floor amidst the coruscating mosaics and glittering jeweled crosses adorning the baptistery. One might have thought such a creature would be banished by the blazing radiance.

  “Lord Chamberlain, I am glad to see you. Please advise your friend Felix of the consequences of disobeying a direct order from the emperor.”

  “Explain yourself, Narses.”

  The eunuch treasurer simpered up at John. “Justinian has sent me to take over here. I am ordered to seize the murderer.” His dark, serpent’s eyes glanced over the assembled churchmen. “I don’t think they will offer much resistance, do you?”

  Felix strode over. “I won’t have the blood of any clergy on my hands. My men take orders from me, and I don’t intend to relinquish my command.”

  “Justinian was right to suppose you cannot be trusted,” Narses sneered. “In fact, you and that miscreant cowering in here are probably both involved in a plot against him.”

  Now John understood the reason for the tension he had sensed. The guards by and large were Christian. They would be torn between their loyalty to the empire and their religion and fear of Justinian’s wrath. It was ironic their captain Felix, who ordered them to honor their sacred place, was himself a pagan.

  Or at least had been hitherto.

  “Anatolius is not going anywhere,” John told Narses. “So there is no need to be in a hurry. Can you imagine what the reaction will be if you have the priests protecting him slaughtered in the church? Perhaps it is you who has an eye on the throne and might like to see the city set on fire?”

  Narses brushed the insinuation aside without raising his reedy voice. “Do you think I am a fool, Lord Chamberlain? I cautioned Justinian a rash act might cause riots. In the end, however, I can only advise and then must carry out his orders. You are Anatolius’ friend, which means you are in the best position to prevent bloodshed. Convince him to surrender.”

  John looked toward the font but could not see Anatolius, hidden behind the massed clergy. Some stared defiantly in their direction, others prayed.

  None were armed.

  “Why are you hesitating, Lord Chamberlain? Is your allegiance to your murderous friend stronger than your allegiance to the emperor?” Narses said.

  “Don’t interfere, John,” Felix growled. “Anatolius has made his choice. I have made mine.”

  “And your men?” Narses’ asked mildly, “What choice will they make when I directly order them to seize the criminal?”

  “I will speak to Anatolius,” John said.

  Those surrounding the font allowed him to pass. Anatolius was still sprawled uncomfortably on the steps leading down into the dry basin.

  “Do you think I should just ask them to bring in the holy water?” Anatolius asked. “They could baptize me and then administer their death rituals. I’d be all set then to fly straight up into that heaven of theirs, where Justinian is sure to send me as soon as I leave here.”

  It would not be an immediate journey, John thought. Justinian’s torturers would ensure it was a seeming eternity before Anatolius was released from his sufferings. “Narses wants you to surrender, to avoid bloodshed.”

  “Except for my blood being shed. Are you supposed to persuade me to leave sanctuary?”

  “Anatolius, swear to me you have not seen Kuria for years, that you are not involved in some plot against the emperor.”

  “I swear it, John. How many times do I need to tell you? How long have we known each other?”

  “A long time, but recently you lied to me.”

  “We all have duties to honor and—”

  “There isn’t time to argue. You have no idea where Kuria has gone?”

  “No.”

  “Very well,” John said. Then I’ll have to find her.”

  Anatolius let his head drop back against the marble rim of the font, his gaze directed up into the glowing dome filled with stars and angels. “Tell the churchmen to leave, John. There’s no reason they should die to protect a pagan like myself.”

>   “They aren’t here to protect you, Anatolius. They are protecting their holy space.”

  Anatolius said nothing and did not move his gaze away from the dome.

  When John returned to Narses unaccompanied, the treasurer merely smiled. “You did not convince him, then? I did not expect that you would.”

  As he spoke there was a commotion and raised voices outside. Narses turned toward the sounds. “Ah, my men have arrived.”

  Felix cursed.

  There was no need to explain. If Narses could not depend on the excubitors there were other forces he could call upon—silentiaries, the scholarae, the City Prefect’s urban watch. No matter how defiant Felix might be, it was inconceivable he would order his excubitors to battle other imperial guards.

  Unless he were in fact intent on deposing the emperor they all served.

  A few of the new arrivals began to filter through the excubitors, moving in Narses’ direction. Armed men scowled apprehensively at the weaponless men surrounding the font.

  Before Narses had a chance to issue orders, Patriarch Menas entered the chamber. His narrow face, accentuated by the long beard, looked more drawn than ever. He moved as slowly as if his clerical robes were woven of pure gold, rather than decorated with gold thread. He walked past John, Narses, and Felix without a word and interposed himself between the priests and those from the palace.

  “I have just spoken with the emperor,” he announced. In response to a withering look flung at him by Narses, he added, “You have been overruled, Narses. I order you, in the emperor’s name, to refrain from exercising your military skills here for the time being.”

  “I knew Justinian would never allow his church to be violated,” Felix muttered.

  Menas looked around and then continued. “The emperor is hoping that the miscreant will recognize his duty toward the Lord and submit himself to justice.”

  John thought it was unlikely Anatolius would oblige. “What if Anatolius refuses to give himself up?” he asked. “I have reason to believe he is innocent, yet he has already been judged guilty. How long will he survive if he leaves the church?”

  “Justinian did not offer me any guarantees on that point,” Menas replied. “I intend to pray with this unfortunate man. Perhaps he will recognize his duty.”

  “And if he continues to claim sanctuary?” Felix interrupted.

  The patriarch’s face, gaunt as it was, displayed a remarkable lack of emotion under the circumstances. It might have been a saint’s face painted on a piece of wood. “The emperor has prayed for guidance. The murderer must surrender himself. That is the Lord’s will, and the Lord’s will shall be done by sunrise. By whatever means is necessary.”

  Chapter Sixty

  In the middle of the night the Augustaion was a desolate plain receding into darkness beyond the pool of light spilling from the Great Church. The statue of Justinian on his steed, indistinct against a gray sky, hovered on its column like some watchful mythical creature on guard above the roofs and colonnades surrounding the square.

  John looked up at the statue as he wondered what to do next. At sunrise Anatolius would be dragged from the church. Whether to the dungeons or to immediate execution, only the omnipresent and omnipotent emperor could say. And Kuria, Theodora’s lady-in-waiting, who might be able to convince Justinian of Anatolius’ innocence, could be anywhere in the city.

  If she was still in the city.

  Given enough time he would have questioned people at the palace, sought out ladies-in-waiting other than Vesta who might have known something useful. He would have enlisted the aid of Pulcheria to spread the word among people on the street to watch for the girl. He would have begun to visit likely tenements, seeking her.

  But there was no time.

  He was crossing the square as he pondered. Where would Kuria have gone? Where could she go? The only life she knew was that of a prostitute and then, very briefly, a penitent at Isis’ refuge. Normally John would have expected her to return to the home she had known before Theodora had plucked her from the refuge and transported her to the palace.

  But Kuria had slashed a rival, Isis had told him. She would not have such a girl back. So she had said.

  Did Kuria believe that?

  Would Isis really turn a former employee away?

  John’s only hope was the answer to both questions was no. It was not a good wager, but it appeared to be the only wager available.

  He entered the darkness at the edge of the square, passed through the archway beyond, and set off along the Mese.

  Isis greeted him, her face puffy with sleep. She wore a plain linen robe. An enormous silver cross dangled from a necklace and bounced comfortably against her ample bosom.

  “I told you I would not take a girl like Kuria back,” Isis pointed out after John questioned her.

  “I remember what you told me, Isis. Is she here?”

  Isis’ shriveled rosebud of a mouth quirked into a smile. “Ah, you know me too well, old friend.”

  “Yes,” John agreed, humoring her. “Even as a young woman in Egypt, you always had a heart much too kind for your line of work.”

  “A kind heart may be lacking in most madams but it never hindered me,” Isis replied.

  “I guessed Kuria would come here, Isis. She knew you couldn’t turn her away.”

  “Ah, but she didn’t seek me out of her own accord. Your informant, Pulcheria, brought her.”

  John expressed surprise.

  “Pulcheria said you had asked her and her friends on the street to keep an eye on a beggar who attacked Hypatia. You suspected he might be more than a beggar. No doubt you will hear from her soon.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “He’s a familiar menace in the area. He camps out near the Hippodrome because he used to be a charioteer, until he fell out of his chariot during a race. He either banged his head on the track or a horse stepped on it. At any rate, it knocked all the sense out of his skull. He’s assaulted more than one woman. Always women wearing green, probably because he raced for the Blue faction.”

  “Why hasn’t he been brought in front of a magistrate?”

  “He has. Time after time. They all know him from his racing days. He won them a lot of wagers back then, so they always let him off.” Isis clucked disapprovingly. “There’s nobody less qualified than a magistrate to administer justice. Any bricklayer would be fairer. I’m thankful I don’t have to bribe magistrates any longer, now I’ve changed the nature of my establishment.”

  Isis paused. “I fear Kuria was hurt, John. Badly beaten. She was lying unconscious all day before word got back to Pulcheria the former charioteer was acting as if he had been up to no good again, that someone had been told by someone else that something or other had been glimpsed by a passer-by. Knowing the rogue’s methods, Pulcheria found the girl in a burnt-out shop near his begging spot. Kuria will survive. She’s tough. The beggar was reportedly seen bleeding profusely from wounds in his face.”

  “I’m glad there’s someone I can rely on,” John said, “even if it is a street woman with a three-legged cat.”

  “Pulcheria confided to me Kuria was not happy to see her. She kept shrieking that Pulcheria was a demon, no doubt because of her scarred face. Pulcheria told her she wasn’t a demon, but her guardian angel. But you said you wanted to see her.”

  Isis led John through narrow hallways lined with doors to cramped rooms which functioned as simply and well for penitents as they had for her girls when they practiced their former profession.

  Kuria lay curled up on a wide shelf that served as a built-in bed on the back wall of her tiny cubicle. The thin mat serving as a mattress must have been a penance for someone used to sleeping on a palace bed. An earthenware plate holding a half-eaten scrap of bread and several olive pits sat on the floor.

&n
bsp; The girl whimpered and rolled over, as if the entrance of John and Isis had triggered a nightmare. As her eyes opened she cried out.

  “Quiet! You’re safe here. Don’t you recognize the Lord Chamberlain?” Isis said sternly.

  “My apologies for startling you, Kuria,” John said. “Isis has told me about what happened. I need some information without delay.”

  Kuria squirmed into a sitting position. Her triangular little face looked crumpled by fear and confusion. There was a purpling bruise on one temple, scratches down her cheeks, and her lip was split. “What is it you want to know, Lord Chamberlain?”

  “Did you entertain Anatolius years ago, while working here?”

  “Anatolius?” Isis asked. “I thought it was Felix who favored her? My memory definitely isn’t what it used to be.”

  “Is it true, Kuria? Anatolius says he used to seek you out regularly. He says he gave you a copy of a poem he wrote about Theodora.”

  Kuria rubbed her eyes. Her wounded mouth quivered as she nodded. “Yes. That’s true. About seeing him and the poem. How did you know?”

  “The poem was found in your room at the palace,” John told her.

  “You stupid girl,” Isis muttered. “That filthy verse! Didn’t I instruct all of you to discard everything of that nature when we changed our direction? You kept it! You had it here in my refuge, before Theodora took you away! And you took it with you, precious to you as it was! If I had known…what was I thinking to take pity on you?”

  “Oh, please don’t turn me out, madam…I mean…Mother Isis. I…I…couldn’t bear to part with that verse. It was written in his own hand.”

  “You were fond of Anatolius?” John prompted.

  “Yes, Lord Chamberlain. I know it was foolish. He’s an aristocrat and I was just a, well, even so I was sure he was fond of me. Only it was impossible, the way things were, and I accepted that.”

  “I doubt it,” Isis put in. “Tell the truth, Kuria. Didn’t you fancy yourself another Theodora and Anatolius your own Justinian?”