An Empire for Ravens

by Eric Mayer

  John thanked the farmer with one of Viteric’s rabbits. He and Viteric continued on until they reached the statue of Plato they had passed by earlier. The raven had not returned.

  John stopped and stared at it.

  “You have thought of something, sir?” Viteric ventured.

  “I’m not certain. It will come to me.”

  When John returned home he asked Clementia to accompany him into the garden. “I wish to talk where we won’t be overheard,” he explained, without adding he would also feel less distracted and disconcerted in the garden than he had in the bath.

  Only afterwards had he realized that their conversation in the bath had left important questions unanswered.

  He led her to a bench not far from the empty animal pens. Flowering shrubs nearby lent their faint perfume to the twilight. A bird which had nested under the peristyle sang its farewell to the day.

  “This must have been a romantic place once, before it was turned into a miniature farm,” Clementia remarked. “However, from your manner, I assume you have not brought me out here with a tryst in mind.”

  “There are some questions I neglected to ask you the other night.”

  “In the bath? Well, I am glad to know I have some effect on you. Or was it the warm water that fogged your mind?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me the names on that list represented inscriptions on tombs? That is correct, isn’t it?”

  “I supposed a man of your perspicacity would have reasoned that out.”

  “Do you think I believe that?”

  “Does it matter? Neither of us possesses the second part of the solution.”

  “Obviously, otherwise you and Felix would have already taken the treasure, or maybe you and Hunulf, or perhaps you would have just retrieved it for yourself.”

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  John tried to contain his sudden anger. “Why was Felix so intent on finding this treasure?”

  “I told you. He thought if he could pay the garrison, Justinian would hand command of it over to him.”

  “It wasn’t because of his gambling debts?”

  Clementia laughed. “Felix was gambling heavily because he knew he’d soon be wealthy.”

  That sounded like Felix, John thought. Always recklessly optimistic. “Felix’s ambition was to be a general in the field. Justinian finally gave him his wish. He made him a general and sent him here into the middle of a war. Yet you tell me he wanted more.”

  “You misunderstand the situation. It was all to do with Anastasia. Felix was convinced Justinian sent him here to keep him away from her. You know Felix was having an affair with Anastasia. Quite improper from a political point of view, of course, with her being the empress’ sister and Felix only a lowly Germanic soldier.”

  “I also know Felix had broken off the relationship.”

  “Only temporarily.”

  “Nevertheless, Felix had his generalship.”

  “He had nothing but a title, Lord Chamberlain. No troops to command, no funds, no real mission except the ridiculous pretense of negotiating with an aging, cowardly churchman. And as soon as Justinian had found a suitable match for Anastasia or the woman herself had found a new man, Felix expected even the title would be taken away.”

  “Then Justinian did not send him here to replace Diogenes?”

  “Of course not, although Diogenes suspected that was the case. Felix was afraid Diogenes would arrange to have him murdered. Perhaps that’s why he contacted you. I can’t say.”

  The bird under the peristyle called out and a breeze surrounded John with perfume, whether from the shrubs or from his companion, a shadowy shape in the growing darkness, he could not be certain.

  He could understand how Felix might have felt, to be finally made a general but in name only. At his age he would not have another chance. Left to himself he might have come to accept his disappointment, but goaded on by a woman like Clementia his ambition had got the best of him.

  Well, John admitted to himself, it wasn’t entirely Clementia’s fault. Any pretty woman could have turned Felix’s head. “We’ll go inside now, Clementia. The breeze is turning chilly.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  John searched the servants’ quarters at his house. The rooms that had belonged to Conon’s servants had been left untouched. A woman’s tunic lay across a bed, ready to be put on at the beginning of a workday which had never come. A necklace with a wooden cross still sat on a table.

  Finally John found what he was looking for, a pair of breeches and a short tunic. Laborer’s clothing. The clothing was ill-fitting as well as shabby. It wasn’t surprising, given few were as tall as John. Its appearance and condition made his disguise look more authentic.

  He had waited until he was certain the members of the household were asleep before creeping through darkened hallways on his mission. Exiting the city was best done in the middle of the night and would also insure Viteric didn’t follow. In this case John was more concerned with Viteric’s safety than about what he might report back to Diogenes. A soldier apprehended on the way in or out of Rome would likely be executed for desertion or spying. A peasant, as John now appeared to be, would have a better chance.

  He made his way quietly through the house, avoiding the room occupied by Eutuchyus, whom he regarded as stealthy and cunning as a rat approaching a cupboard. A cloud of perfume hung outside Clementia’s doorway. It reminded him of passing by a flowering shrub in a dark garden. A shaft of moonlight slanting through the compluvium illuminated the atrium as John slunk catlike along the walls.

  When he was finally outside he went north. A spectral moon turned the city into a nightmare landscape of stark black and white. The shadows in the streets might have been bottomless pits. The leaning wooden tenements resembled towering marble mausoleums. It was as if the monstrous moon had drained all color and life out of the world below.

  John considered his plan. Once he was beyond the wall he could hire a boat or steal one if necessary to cross the Tiber to the Goth camp. He had his blade and a money pouch, prepared for any eventuality.

  There was a scuffling from behind. Faint but unmistakable.

  The sound of a footstep sliding over an uneven patch in the ground.

  He turned. The street was empty. There was no flicker of light from any window. Doors to deserted buildings hung open. The few people who had returned to Rome had mainly settled nearer the Palantine Hill. There were not even feral dogs or cats prowling, there being nothing for them to scavenge.

  It struck him that this was how a dead city looked. Bleached bones in the moonlight. All of Rome would look like this one day, and Constantinople too. For cities died as surely as people did.

  He resumed walking.

  There came another footstep.

  He pivoted and sprinted back the way he’d come. A figure jumped out of the shadows into a patch of moonlight and vanished again into darkness.

  John raced after it, closing ground quickly.

  He lunged, grabbed, felt fabric in his fist. The figure fell, yelled. “It’s only me, Julius!”

  John kept his grip on the boy’s tunic and yanked him to his feet. “Why are you following me?”

  The boy’s eyes looked big and shiny in the moonlight. His gaze moved to John’s blade, which also looked very big and shiny. “I only wanted to kill some Goths.”

  John released him. “Explain.”

  “I overheard you and Viteric talking when you arrived back today. You’re going over the wall, aren’t you? Into Goth territory. Well, when I tried to join the military they told me I wasn’t old enough to kill Goths, but now we’ll see about that!”

  John sighed. “I don’t intend to kill anyone, Julius. I want to find and interview someone.”

  Julius brought out his own knife. “But you’ll need to kill Goths to do that, wo
n’t you?”

  “I hope not.”

  Julius looked dubious. “You hope not? But why?”

  “Violent death tends to be messy and noisy, Julius. What I’m doing requires secrecy.”

  “Spying?”

  “If you will, yes. And spies work alone. Return to the house.”

  “What, go back there all alone, at this time of night? Who knows what’s lying in wait?”

  “You are probably the most dangerous menace lurking between here and the house, Julius.”

  “But, sir…”

  Although John believed what he’d told the boy was true, what if he were mistaken? Could he take the chance the boy would not attempt to follow him despite orders and bring disaster on them both? “All right. Come with me. But remember, you’re under my command and you will follow orders.”

  They went along a straight street parallel to the Tiber, the moon following. He could make out guards at the gate.

  Leaving the street, John and Julius angled away from the river, passing mostly ruined buildings, until they came to a wide open space filled with rank vegetation. Charred foundations and occasional statuary indicated that the area had once been gardens where private villas backed up against the city’s northern wall.

  The Twisted Wall was clearly visible. Uneven and bulging, it gave the impression of a great beast dozing in the pale moonlight.

  “We’ll know soon enough if Diogenes posted guards here,” John muttered. As he started through the overgrown gardens he felt Julius’ grasp on his tunic.

  “No, sir, don’t go any further.” The boy’s voice came out in a whimper.

  “What’s the matter, Julius? You’re not frightened, are you?” The boy’s reaction struck John as out of character.

  “You didn’t say you were going to the Evil Wall!”

  “Evil Wall? I thought this is called the Twisted Wall.”

  “That too! This is where they buried robbers and cutthroats. Their shades haunt the place.”

  John took hold of Julius’ hand and pulled him into the dark vegetation. “Not so loud! We can’t be certain there are no guards around!”

  “Let’s go back, sir. Goths don’t frighten me. They can be killed but you can’t kill somebody already dead.”

  “I remember you mentioned being frightened that Conon’s shade might haunt the house.”

  “Oh, that was just silly talk. The Evil Wall is real.”

  John didn’t stop to argue. He pushed on. One shrub clawed at his tunic, another drove thorns into his ankles. A patch of nettles set his hands afire. No phantoms or armed men appeared.

  “They say Nero’s tomb is nearby,” Julius went on. “I wouldn’t want to meet him!”

  “Yet you say you’re not afraid of Goths and the Goths burnt more of Rome than Nero did,” John snapped.

  Julius fell silent.

  The tangle of vegetation ran right to the base of the wall. John glanced up and down its length, searching for a gap. In the moonlight the uneven masonry formed a bewildering patchwork of black and white, every bright block accompanied by its own inky shadow.

  So far as John could see, the wall here was in poor repair and barely half the height it should have been, but still unscalable. He forced his way through the brush and vines.

  Julius screamed.

  The shade swooped down on John before he could react.

  Not a shade, he realized almost instantly, but a shadow, followed by a heavy body.

  He was driven down but as he hit the ground he brought his knee up into his assailant’s belly.

  Rolling away, he saw that Julius had leapt on the assailant’s back, pummeling and scratching like a starved cat fighting for a rat run over by a cart.

  The man bellowed in alarm. “Stop! I give up! I didn’t know there was another one!”

  John pulled Julius away, taking a flailing fist in the eye in the process. He was relieved the boy hadn’t had time to use his knife. The attacker was a shabby man, considerably overweight. With John looming over him displaying his blade, the fellow got shakily to his feet, rubbing at his bottom. “You pushed me right onto them thistles,” he said reproachfully.

  “You ambushed us. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “I thought you was a guard.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you, I suppose. Visiting friends outside Rome.”

  John didn’t inquire whether the visit related to business or pleasure. “So it’s true it’s possible to get out through the wall here?”

  “Oh, yes. If I can, anyone can.” The man patted his ample belly and winced. “See how that bit of the wall leans forward? Scramble up until you reach where the next section sags in the opposite direction. It makes a sort of fold you can climb down.” He went on to attribute the fact the Goths had not entered the same way to the protection of Peter, finally pointing out that the saint would not allow Rome’s enemies to discover a breach in the city defenses.

  John had no answer to that. He would have thought the saint had better things to do than put in sentry duty at a weak spot in the wall of the city in which he’d been imprisoned and executed.

  “Off with you now,” John ordered. “And keep your mouth shut about meeting us.”

  “At once, sir.” The man took a few careful steps away, rubbing first his sore belly and then his stinging backside. “Just don’t set your little demon on me again!”

  Julius grinned so broadly at the compliment John could see his teeth shining in the moonlight.

  Chapter Thirty

  Cornelia sat on a bench in the courtyard by the house and tried to enjoy the morning sunshine as she plucked a chicken whose erstwhile companions scratched around in the dirt. She told herself she was relaxing, not waiting, not tense with anticipation. But in fact she was waiting as she did every day and her heart missed a beat when the flock scattered with a burst of outraged cluckings and she saw Hypatia returning from the market in Megara.

  Would there be news from Italy? News of John?

  “Would you like to dine with us tonight?” Hypatia asked before Cornelia could say anything. “I’ve enough mussels for everyone. I intend to cook them in raisin wine the way Peter likes them. The merchant I bought them from swore Poseidon himself could not have fresher. They had to be tied down to prevent them jumping back into the sea, or so he claimed.”

  Hypatia sounded almost too cheerful. Cornelia put aside her bird’s pallid carcass and brushed stray feathers from her lap. “You must have purchased them from old Silver Tongue.”

  He was a notorious tongue-wagger, distributing news along with what he liked to call the bounty of the sea.

  “That’s right.”

  “Did he have anything to say about the situation in Italy?”

  A cloud passed over Hypatia’s smiling face. “No, but he did tell me that a fellow who bought a basket of sprats said everyone at the docks is talking about a man, newly arrived, who claims to be a courier from Rome with urgent imperial business in Constantinople.”

  Cornelia felt her mouth go dry. Was it possible the man had business in Megara too? Business concerning a former Lord Chamberlain? Or his family? “Did you learn anything more?”

  Hypatia’s lips narrowed and she frowned.

  “I can see you don’t want to tell me.”

  “It’s only rumors.”

  “Rumors sometimes turn out to be true.”

  “But if they’re not true you’ll be worried for no reason.”

  “I already worry.”

  Hypatia sighed. “I was hoping I could put it off to later, but since you insist…According to Silver Tongue’s source, this man was in the tavern across from the stairs leading down to the docks drinking and talking too much. He was angry because his ship, the Nika, needed to come into port for repairs and he’d been looking forwar
d to a swift trip both ways.”

  “Both ways?” Cornelia said thoughtfully. “It must have been very important business indeed to rush back to Rome. Do you think it has anything to do with whatever Felix was so worried about? Whatever it was that took John to Rome?”

  “It’s possible. There’s no way to know.”

  The chickens were emerging from the weeds around the yard to resume their scratching, oblivious to their deceased companion.

  “The ship probably won’t be able to sail until tomorrow at the earliest,” Cornelia said. “I think I’ll walk down there and see if I can find that fellow. He must know what’s going on in Rome, if nothing else.”

  “He certainly can tell you about that. He seems to know a great deal. In fact, according to Silver Tongue this traveler mentioned Justinian’s Lord Chamberlain had arrived in Rome.”

  “John!”

  Hypatia looked ready to cry. “There’s more. The loose-lipped stranger said the man he was talking about was a fraud and he’d be unmasked as soon as Justinian heard about it.”

  “When Justinian finds out John has left Megara…”

  Hypatia put her arm around Cornelia, who pushed her away, suddenly furious. “You weren’t going to tell me!”

  “No. I was, but I wanted time to think about how I could. There’s probably no truth in it. Just drunken talk. Besides, there’s nothing we can do.”

  Cornelia walked away without a word. In the room she shared with John she opened a plain wooden chest at the foot of the bed and dug down through the clothing stored there until she found a linen bundle tied with twine. Inside was a dagger with a copper blade riveted to an ivory handle.

  It was Egyptian. She had carried it with her all her life on the road, until she stopped traveling, left the dangerous city of Constantinople, and settled here in the peaceful Greek countryside. She had thought she would never need it again.

  Running her finger along the blade she remembered John giving it to her when they were young lovers.