An Empire for Ravens

by Eric Mayer

  “This is not decay, sir. The dogs had been at him.”

  John wasn’t sure if the deafening buzz he heard was in his head or only the flies. He scanned the wrapped body. “Could you lower the sheet more?”

  The attendant complied. The corpse was dressed in laborer’s clothes and, though his build was large, he was not as broad as Felix. Then again, didn’t the dead always look shrunken, as if something vital had escaped?

  “It isn’t the person I am looking for.”

  “I will not say I am sorry. Most of those who come here legitimately searching for someone would prefer not to find them.”

  It was an uncharitable thought but John wondered if the attendant was less concerned with bodies being robbed as with them being robbed before they reached his care? He recalled his companion had told him about a young woman identified by her jewelry.

  So perhaps he was honest. Or simply hadn’t checked her tunica closely enough.

  He thought about Basilio’s former servant who had worn jewelry while scrubbing the church floors.

  “This young woman who was identified by her jewelry, do you remember anything else about her?”

  “I recall that her parents were distraught. Even more than usual, I mean. I’ve become used to it most of the time but this pair…the father was cursing the Lord and crying out for justice for Veneria.”

  Veneria! Basilio’s former servant! Mithra was assisting him today, John thought.

  A short walk brought John to an abandoned tenement at the base of the Aventine Hill just south of the Circus Maximus. He recognized it from the mortuary attendant’s description. It loomed precariously over the buildings lining a dead-end alley. It was the place where Veneria’s family has asked for her body to be sent. Even on the sunniest day John doubted much light could penetrate the gloom of the passage, which was hardly wider than a man’s shoulders.

  Now darkness had fallen. John entered the reeking black maw, his sword at the ready. It was the perfect place for an ambush. There was an eerie sense of people hiding nearby, waiting for an opportunity to strike, a feeling familiar to him from numerous forays along similar and equally foul alleys in Constantinople. However, given only one family now lived in this particular location—or so he had been told—perhaps it was peopled with the spirits of former residents. It reminded him too much of the solid darkness of passages branching away from those he traveled as he escaped from the catacombs.

  He did not believe Felix was dead and thus had set his boots on the seven-runged ladder leading to Mithra’s realm. However, Veneria, a possible source of information, was dead. Veneria, who had worked for the churchman Basilio, and may have run off with Hunulf, who also once worked for Basilio and was later employed by Clementia. Hunulf, who the gambler Gainus hinted had been involved with Clementia, the same woman Eutuchyus claimed was having an affair with Felix. Did the convoluted string of rumors—as likely to be false as true—form a link between Veneria and the disappearance of Felix?

  When he reached the door to the five-story wooden building, he could see it was even more ramshackle than he’d expected. Given how it was tottering on its foundations, he wondered why anyone would live there. As a former fighting man, John knew a narrow approach with only one end open was easily defended, and in this desperate city perhaps that was the explanation.

  The door had served as a common entrance to the apartments within. Now it was locked. At the sound of his rapping, a window above him opened. A man held out a lantern and examined John’s upturned face by its flickering light.

  “What do you want?”

  John identified himself and informed the man at the window he was willing to pay for information. The man clattered downstairs and unbarred the door.

  Beckoning John in, he hastily barred it again. “What sort of information do you think I have to sell?”

  His words echoed in the empty passage. The air was malodorous, a mixture of rotted fruit and dead rats. Even so it was not quite as unbearable as the atmosphere in the mortuary. The bright lantern blinded John. As his eyes adjusted, he made out a rotund figure with oddly thin legs and a charioteer’s leather helmet.

  “You are the one who showed me the way to my house when I was lost,” John said. “And I saw you leap onto the racetrack this morning.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m Aurelius. Normally, I repair chariots, but these days we all pitch in to do anything we can to keep the races going.”

  John wondered why the man continued to wear the leather helmet even at home. Was he bald and vain? He followed him into a room which must have been enlarged by knocking down partitions between apartments. It was decorated and furnished with a motley array of scavenged items—a big couch with torn upholstery, wall hangings burnt at the bottom, a small statue of a goddess, the bust of a statesman without a nose.

  “You will excuse my wife if she does not join us. We lost our daughter recently. My wife is upstairs weeping. She’s been weeping ever since the funeral. We had to bury our daughter in a temporary grave inside the walls. It’s been a nightmare.”

  “I’m here because of your daughter.”

  Aurelius eyed John warily. “You are staying at General Felix’s house, where General Conon once lived. You must be an official. Have the authorities finally decided to take notice of my daughter’s death?”

  “Not exactly. I am searching for the general, who has vanished. Finding out what happened to Veneria may help me find him.”

  Aurelius stamped the floor and cursed. “So he is the villain who led her astray?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean?” He strode over to a cabinet and drew out a necklace. It flashed and sparkled in the lantern light. “Gold and pearls and sapphires! Where does the daughter of a man who repairs chariots find the money for such jewelry? How does a servant girl earn such money? It was on her body when we found her at the mortuary.”

  “I am told she was involved with a former soldier.”

  “Military pay is low at the best of times, never mind about these times. There must have been someone else, someone wealthy and generous, sir. Some high official or other. A general, an emissary from the emperor.”

  Felix’s roving eye might easily be caught by any attractive woman, but John couldn’t imagine him murdering one. “I’m not aware of any such connection between General Felix and your daughter.”

  A forlorn-looking woman drifted into the room like a shade and came to stand beside Aurelius.

  “My wife,” he said putting an arm around her shoulders. “This man has come to help us, to look into Veneria’s death.”

  She looked at John with hollow, haunted eyes. “You could help us? How? My husband says you told him as he helped you home that you have not been long in Rome. The authorities wouldn’t pay attention to me when I begged them to search for her. To them she was nothing, not worth bothering about. If it had been a person of their own class, it would have been a different story.”

  “She was a fine girl,” put in Aurelius, stroking his distraught wife’s gray hair. “She worked hard. She promised her mother and me we would all soon have a better life. I suspected she had strayed, but these days what are we to say about that? We all do what we must to continue living. Yet the wages of sin are poor, it seems, for here we still are, and poor Veneria is dead.”

  “When did you see her last?” John asked him.

  “A week ago. After she left Basilio.” This elicited a sob from his wife. “Now, there…” He patted her shoulder reassuringly.

  “Did she tell you her plans?”

  “Not really. She—”

  “She was going to run off with a military man,” blurted out Aurelius’ wife. “Such men are trained to kill. They quarreled and he killed her!”

  “Did she identify the man?”

  “No,” said Aurelius, “and we didn’t like to ask.” />
  “Did she ever speak of a man called Hunulf?”

  Both shook their heads.

  “Your daughter promised you a better life. Did she ever bring money home?”

  “Only small amounts, amounts she might have obtained honestly.”

  It had occurred to John that the necklace found on Veneria’s body must be worth a fair amount. She might have stolen it. He continued questioning the pair but learned nothing of interest. According to them Veneria was an industrious young woman who dreamed of a happy future but had worked for bad employers and become involved with a bad man.

  John promised to do what he could and left.

  Aurelius lingered in the doorway and shouted down the alley after him. “Justice, sir. All we want is justice!”

  Chapter Ten

  John lay in bed, sleepless, Aurelius’ shouts for justice still echoing in his mind. Justice was what everyone wanted, yet everyone wanted something different. When, as a young mercenary, he had inadvertently wandered into enemy territory while seeking silks for his lover, been captured by the Persians, castrated, and sold into slavery, that must have seemed eminently just to the Persians. Perhaps a Christian—Archdeacon Leon, for example—might also consider what John had suffered a just punishment for a sinful relationship. From John’s perspective it was an injustice. And now, who at the court of Constantinople would dare say that Justinian had not meted out justice by sending his former Lord Chamberlain into exile? The emperor was the very source of justice, but John, having served Justinian loyally for more than twenty years, did not consider the action just. Fortunately, John, unlike many—including Aurelius—did not expect justice, or at any rate did not expect others to administer his personal idea of justice. Was it even possible that anyone could deliver to Aurelius whatever it was the bereaved father would consider justice for his daughter’s death?

  John tried to stop his musings from racing around in circles like chariots at the track. As soon as he thought he had succeeded, the starting gates flew open again. He had attended Plato’s Academy in Athens and run away from his studies to fight as a mercenary, so it was no wonder he tried to send his philosophizing into retreat. What did philosophy teach, after all, except that there were no answers? And a man could not live his life as if there were no answers. Perhaps those who had never bothered to think deeply about things were better off.

  His friend Felix had never read philosophy. He read histories, read about what men had done, rather than what they had thought about.

  It occurred to John that another day had passed without word from Felix. It seemed increasingly unlikely Felix’s absence was the result of a drinking binge. He would have surely returned by now.

  John rolled over, opened his eyes, and looked toward the window, hoping for some sign of daylight, the welcome end of a sleepless night. But there was only darkness. The room was unfamiliar, perhaps part of the reason he couldn’t sleep.

  He listened to hear signs of life in the streets beyond or the song of a predawn bird. Instead, he heard a thump from above followed by the sound of scraping. Padding to his door, he opened it a crack. The hall was dimly illuminated in light from an unseen lamp in another corridor.

  A shadow disappeared around a corner.

  John followed, treading as silently as possible, ready for sudden ambush.

  There was a burst of noise from the direction of the kitchen. The crash of something knocked over. Shouts, then a high-pitched shrieking.

  John sprinted through the doorway and saw Eutuchyus cowering beside the overturned kitchen table, clutching a bleeding hand and screaming as his assailant stood uncertainly in front of him. The knife-wielding attacker was a boy on the edge of manhood, slight of build.

  John easily disarmed the boy. When he tried to bite, John slammed him down into a chair.

  Seen up close, he wasn’t merely slightly built but rather emaciated. John could have circled his wrist with one hand. The boy’s face was drawn and his eyes sunken, giving him a look of precocious worldly wisdom. He was also none too clean.

  “He tried to kill me!” Eutuchyus thrust a shaking, bleeding hand toward John.

  John pushed it away. “It’s nothing but a shallow cut.”

  Eutuchyus stared at John resentfully. “This is the thief who has been stealing our food, master. I lay in wait for him. He might have murdered us all in our beds.”

  “He is only a hungry boy, Eutuchyus.”

  “A hungry boy armed with a knife!”

  “To cut my food with,” snapped the boy. He spat in Eutuchyus’ direction.

  “Go to your room and see to your hand,” John ordered the steward.

  The boy smirked as Eutuchyus slunk away.

  John turned the table upright and set out a plate of leftover rabbit stew. The boy ate quickly but in a controlled fashion. The plate cleared, John was rewarded with a grin and a nod. A confident young man then, John thought, and not afraid of me. He asked his visitor for his name.

  “Julius. I live near here.”

  “Where?”

  Julius waved his hand. “In the abandoned house next door. I hide there in the daytime and come out to forage for food at night.”

  It was possible Julius was telling the truth. There was no reason for anyone to enter the semi-destroyed building next door, so he would be fairly safe from discovery. If spotted, he could easily run off. If cornered, he was equipped with a weapon, and a well-sharpened one at that.

  “How did you get into this house?” John asked, thinking of the building’s stout doors barred at night.

  The visitor shrugged. “You might say I dropped in from heaven. One of the upper windows does not close properly. It’s easy to use it as an entrance if you don’t mind climbing up on the roof and letting yourself down on a rope.”

  That explained the light thud and scraping John had heard. He reminded Julius it would be far safer to enter an unoccupied house.

  “True, but there’s no food in houses where nobody lives. I assure you I am most careful to be as quiet as possible. See?” He raised a foot wrapped in scraps of linen.

  “You are alone?”

  “I’ve been alone a long time,” Julius replied in a matter of fact tone. “What do you intend to do with me now?”

  John admitted he had yet to decide. He asked Julius how he had come to be living by himself in a ruined building in a largely deserted city.

  “It was easy. I ran away from home to join the army. My parents wanted me to study. What’s the use of that? I wanted to fight. But when I reached a Roman camp, they said I was too young. I decided to try my luck elsewhere. Never got wherever elsewhere was, because I was caught by the Goths. They’re everywhere.”

  “Indeed.”

  “They gave me to one of their noblemen. Ha! Nobleman, they called him. As if a barbarian can be noble.” Julius spat again. “He used me like a slave.”

  John had to stop himself from smiling. The boy’s tale was so like his own. “And how did you get away?”

  Julius shrugged. “One night I slit my master’s noble throat.”

  “Stay here? But you can’t let that filthy little beast stay here, sir!” Eutuchyus fluttered around the kitchen like a wounded butterfly. “It disgusts me to get anywhere near that boy!”

  “You don’t have to get near him, just serve him the meals you serve me.”

  This morning, for John, that meant bread and cheese with a cup of watered wine. He was having a difficult time choking it down, not because he favored more elaborate fare, but rather because Eutuchyus’ wailing had begun to irritate him. The steward was intolerable. When he wasn’t complaining in that grating voice, he was gliding around, silently, always appearing out of nowhere.

  “Serve that little thief? Why do I need to? He’s been helping himself all along. Stealing from us brazenly while we slept!”

  Losing pa
tience, John banged his cup down on the table. “You speak like a frightened woman! You’re afraid of being murdered by a child?”

  Eutuchyus’ lip trembled. “But, sir, he admitted he slit his master’s throat.”

  John stood up, eyes angry. “You were eavesdropping last night.”

  “No, sir. I mean, yes, but…but…I didn’t mean to hear…”

  “You are a liar. You don’t really believe the boy killed anyone, do you? It was merely bravado. Boys are all like that at his age. I shall overlook your comments this time, but Julius will stay. If I hear more complaints, you won’t. Now get about your business.”

  Julius strolled into the room as if he’d lived in the house for years. “Good morning, sir.”

  By daylight, Julius looked even thinner than he had in the dim lamplight.

  “You can have my breakfast,” John told him. “If you want more, Eutuchyus will provide it, although I suppose you already know where our supplies are kept.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Eutuchyus will show you where the bath is.”

  “I know where that is too.”

  He knows this house better than I do, John told himself. “Before you eat, though, Julius, I want you to do a job for me.”

  Suddenly the boy looked wary.

  “Leave the house carefully, without being observed. There will be a guard somewhere outside. Distract him. Throw a stone, yell. Lead him away.”

  Julius brightened. “Certainly, sir.” He raced off on his mission. Emaciated as he appeared he was not lacking in energy.

  John waited.

  Before long he heard the muffled sound of something hitting the house. From the back of the house came the sound of a man shouting and a boy laughing. There was the faint slap of running feet.

  So Viteric had had enough sense to guard the escape route John had used the previous day. As he peered out the front door, John hoped Viteric had not been given an assistant.

  Chapter Eleven