Ten for Dying (John the Lord Chamberlain Book 10)

by Mary Reed

  Isis heard the racket too and whirled around. The sack slipped from her grasp and hit the floor. Bones rattled out and skittered into the walls, as if invisible hands were playing knucklebones.

  “Mithra! Just my luck!” cursed Felix, and ran after the caller.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Fortuna had not abandoned Felix entirely. He careened past Isis who was startled into immobility. Bones crunched under his feet, then he flung himself out the door.

  Isis’ mysterious caller was still within sight. The man sauntered along, showing no sign of concern. Apparently he had not heard the commotion he had left in his wake.

  Perhaps he was hard of hearing. Keeping his distance to remain undetected, Felix could tell he was a man of late middle age, sturdy. There was something familiar about him.

  When the man passed through a pool of torch light in front of a closed shop, Felix recognized him—the lamp keeper he and John had interviewed at the Church of the Holy Apostles the morning after the theft of the Virgin’s shroud. What was his name? Peteiros? He claimed to have seen demons making off with a sacred relic, yet hadn’t he just delivered a bag of bones to Isis?

  An ugly swarm of possibilities began to buzz around in Felix’s head.

  As the sun rose, light spilled into the streets. The squeaking and banging of metal grates being raised as shops opened for the day reverberated beneath cool shaded colonnades. Peteiros, if indeed Felix had identified him correctly, strolled along the Mese. Naturally, he would take his time, now he had nothing to hide. He carried only the coins Isis had handed over.

  To be delivered to whom?

  The answer seemed obvious.

  But perhaps Peteiros wasn’t going to the church. He might have taken the furtive job to make extra money. He could even be employed by Porphyrius. Peteiros would make an inconspicuous courier. Just as an aristocrat would not appear out of place arriving at the house of the excubitor captain, so a church worker would raise no eyebrows by going to the door of a refuge.

  However, to Felix’s dismay, at the spot where the Mese forked, Peteiros took the northern branch and started to climb the hill atop which sat the Church of the Holy Apostles.

  All the way there Felix hoped Peteiros would turn from his route. He held his breath in expectation every time they approached a side street, but the carer of holy lamps kept straight along, dragging Felix’s hopes lower and lower, until he finally entered the grounds of the church and vanished through its entrance.

  Felix cursed silently. Already he was opposed by the emperor and a wealthy and famous charioteer. Now it seemed he had to worry about the priest of one of the city’s largest churches. Who would it be next? The Patriarch?

  How could he have been so stupid? Who had unrestricted access to the shroud except Basilius? He bore the responsibility for its security. All that nonsense about demons must have been concocted between the priest and Peteiros.

  If he—or John—had given the matter thought Basilius could have been confronted immediately and Felix would never have run afoul of Justinian and Porphyrius. And Julian would still be alive.

  Felix’s spirits had been sagging the closer they got to the church, but as he went up the steps his despair turned to anger.

  A deacon took one look at his grim face and directed him to Basilius. The priest was taking a morning walk through the grounds behind the church. He stopped in front of Theodora’s mausoleum at Felix’s approach and when he saw Felix’s expression he blurted out, “Bad news? Is it the shroud? Please, Lord, let it be safe.”

  “You should be able to me whether the relic is safe or not. First explain the transaction at Isis’ refuge this morning. Then tell me what you did with the missing relic. And no lies this time!”

  “You have no right to speak—”

  “A man with his life hanging by a thread has the right to demand information from anyone to save himself.”

  Basilius was making little gestures with his hands, pleading for Felix to be quieter. “You can’t think I had anything to do with stealing the shroud?”

  “I can, I have reason to think it, and I do.”

  “But you saw me after I consulted with the emperor about the theft.”

  “A good smokescreen. You knew the shroud was going to reside here for a while after Theodora’s funeral. So you decided to take advantage of the chance. It was you who arranged to have it protected so inadequately. On purpose, I believe.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “I know you’ve been selling relics to Isis. Do you expect me to believe it’s a coincidence the most valuable relic in your church has been stolen?”

  Basilius looked around nervously. There was no one nearby. “Isis? Who is Isis? Wait. Do you mean Theodora’s model prostitute? The one who supposedly changed her house to a refuge?”

  Felix’s fists clenched. He forced himself not to grab the little cleric by the front of his robes and shake the truth out of him. “You know Isis well enough to have had your man Peteiros deliver a sack of relics, old bones to be precise. I observed the transaction myself and followed him back here.”

  Basilius seemed stunned. “This is true?”

  “Why are you questioning me?” Felix thundered. “You’re the one who’s lying!”

  The priest suddenly strode in the direction of the mausoleum. For an instant Felix thought he was running away, but instead he called out. “Timothy!”

  The elderly doorkeeper came hobbling out, leaning on his stick and blinking. No doubt he had been sleeping, Felix thought. Or pretending to sleep. Was he involved too, with his frogs and amulets and implausible stories of apes and demons?

  “Timothy, go and bring Peteiros. Tell him there’s a man here making inquiries about his…um…activities. A man from the palace tell him, so he will know how to…uh…conduct himself.”

  The ancient fellow gave Felix a suspicious look and shuffled off. He took a very long time in returning with Peteiros. Time that Felix and the priest passed in an increasingly awkward silence. An unseen bird sang in a tree. If only the songs of those Felix interrogated were as simple and guileless at that bird’s, he mused.

  By the time Peteiros finally arrived Basilius had composed himself. He related in sharp tones what Felix had told him.

  Peteiros was stricken. “Lord forgive me!” He wailed, dropping to the ground and groveling at the priest’s feet in a display of debasement that Theodora would have admired.

  Basilius took hold of the back of the man’s tunic and yanked with surprising strength, urging him back to his feet.

  Peteiros complied and stood swaying and moaning.

  “It’s true, then?” Basilius said. Felix would never have believed the little priest’s tones could be so cold. “You’ve been pilfering holy relics and selling them to a…a…prostitute?”

  “No! No, sir. Only a few small, useless things.”

  “It was quite a collection of bones you brought to Isis this morning,” Felix put in.

  “They were the foot bones of a donkey,” was the reply.

  Felix recalled one of the stories Anastasia had insisted he learn. “You mean the beast Jesus rode into Jerusalem?”

  “Oh no, sir. It couldn’t have been. There was still skin and fur attached until I-”

  “You’re talking about the donkey bones the old cart driver tried to pass off on us last week, aren’t you?” Basilius said. “A dreadful case. The poor fellow was starving, without a beast to pull his cart. He must have prayed he wouldn’t outlive his donkey.” He turned to address Felix. “I gave him a few coins and sent him away, then I ordered the bones placed into our store room with all the other similar items. We receive an endless stream of blatantly fraudulent relics, for one reason or another. I had no idea—”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because I’m telling you the truth.”
<
br />   Felix smiled wearily. “And you, Peteiros why shouldn’t I hand you over to the authorities for stealing the Virgin’s shroud? Because you’re telling the truth too? You’ve admitted you were selling relics.”

  “Not relics, sir. Donkey bones.”

  Basilius broke in. “Why, Peteiros? How could you do such a thing?”

  “But I was only tidying up a bit, wasn’t I? And Mada and I, we hoped we might save enough to buy a bit of land for a farm.”

  “The relic with which I am concerned would be worth more than a farm,” Felix pointed out.

  Peteiros was almost in tears. “I’d never think of such a blasphemous thing, sir. My soul would burn. Those demons I saw would fall upon me and carry me off under the earth, into the eternal fires.”

  “Pray that you are not destined for the flames for your perfidy,” Basilius told him. “How did you come to know such a woman as this Isis?”

  Peteiros swallowed and licked his lips. “During the winter, when we needed to replace lamps and you wished me to find the least expensive…It was from one of the shops run by the refuge that I got the best bargains.”

  Felix saw Basilius’ eyes widen slightly. He could imagine the priest thinking, in horror, “I have been walking in the light from a whore’s lamps all this time!”

  What Basilius said was, “You may go now, Peteiros. We shall speak about your future later.”

  Felix allowed the man to creep away. He didn’t believe his story, nor did he believe Basilius was ignorant of his employee’s activities. Hadn’t he as much as instructed Timothy to warn Peteiros to conduct himself appropriately? Clearly the two had a story worked out between them in case of need. And Peteiros wasn’t likely to deviate from it in front of his employer. Nor was Basilius likely to confess to any crimes, except perhaps to his god or Justinian’s torturers, and Felix was trying to avoid the latter himself.

  He wheeled and stalked off without a word.

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Isis flushed with anger. “I know nothing about the theft of this relic you’re looking for. If I did know anything, I’d tell you. For a small donation for my girls’ welfare, of course.”

  “Of course,” Felix agreed. They were sitting on a cushioned couch in her office, her inner sanctum, not as elaborately furnished as in the past, but still retaining memories of luxury. He had grown fond of this room in the days when he had happier business to conduct. He was fond of Isis as well. He regretted having to pressure his old friend. Her color looked unhealthy. But what could he do? She was dealing in relics. She had managed to get herself tangled up in the whole mess. “You need to tell me about your recent visitor now. I may not be able to talk with you again.”

  Felix had returned to the refuge by back streets, uncomfortably aware that by now Narses would be probing every corner of the city for him, a vulture seeking the last, tender organ inside a stripped carcass. As he and Isis spoke, he half-listened for the imperious pounding on the door that would tell him he was discovered by a predatory beak.

  She stared at him with a stony expression. “I don’t touch true relics, Felix. My girls do sell mementoes. Yes, we realize that some may not be what they should be. We might even create a few in this house. The church owns many frauds. I am told there are four of Peter’s fishing nets in one particular church, which seems a great many for a poor man, and so many leg bones attributed to Paul that he must have been a spider. Where is the harm if the buyer is convinced what he has purchased is what he believes it to be? His faith makes it holy. And is it not faith by which we are saved?”

  “I’d say it is faith by which we are lost, when we put it in lies and liars, Isis. Peteiros claims he was the only one dealing in these relics, stealing them from under the priest’s nose. Frankly I have no faith in that statement.”

  Isis glowered at him. “He told me he had sought me out on behalf of Basilius. Do you think I would have dealt with him otherwise? And he deals with me because he realizes I can exercise discretion, thanks to my previous calling.”

  “Yet Basilius denied any involvement. Are you certain Peteiros comes here under his orders?”

  “Certainly. Have I ever lied to you?”

  That was the question, wasn’t it? How did Felix know if she, or anyone else for that matter, was lying to him?

  “But could it be that Peteiros was lying to you about the priest being involved to convince you to cooperate? Have you ever dealt with Basilius in person?”

  Isis looked cross. “No, but it isn’t surprising. He wouldn’t want to be seen with me.”

  “Can you swear to me you know nothing about the missing relic, Isis? All I care about is getting it back. If you can help me it would be best for you to do so. The emperor is sure to find out eventually who was involved, unless I can hand it over to him first.”

  “I understand, Felix, but I know nothing about this shroud.” Isis’ tone turned wistful. “If I actually had the such a valuable relic, do you suppose I would still be here? I know my business. I would have already sold it to the highest bidder, appointed a successor to run my refuge, and been on my way back to Egypt to live in luxury the rest of my life.”

  “Supposing the relic was not authentic, you mean? You just told me you don’t deal in authentic relics. You don’t think it is the actual shroud of the Virgin?”

  “Fortunately I have no reason to give it any thought.”

  “I wish I could say the same, Isis. Your mentioning Egypt reminds me that there was that scarab left on Theodora’s tomb the night of the robbery.”

  Isis made a gesture of contempt. “I am not the only person from Egypt living in the city. Besides that what about those who collect such interesting artifacts?”

  “That’s all very well, Isis, but—”

  “Have some wine, Felix. You look overheated. You can think things out more clearly if you cool down.”

  Felix pushed up his sleeves and reached for the cup she offered. Isis leaned forward, then sat back and stared. The ruddy color drained from her face as quickly as the sunset blush fades from a marble statue.

  “May the gods protect you, Felix! Those patches on your skin…I saw them in Egypt.” She leapt off the couch and backed away. “You must leave immediately!”

  He stood. “What is it?”

  She cringed and backed further away. Her features trembled and twisted into an expression of horror and revulsion. “I’ll have to engage a doctor to examine everyone in the house tomorrow. My girls! You’ve killed them! You’ve brought leprosy into my refuge!”

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Gordia, widow of Martinus, occupied what passed for a modest dwelling amongst the aristocrats of Constantinople, a domed, brick, two story house faced with polished granite, at the top of the hill north of the Great Palace. The dead courier’s wife met Anatolius on a terrace from which could be seen the Golden Horn to the north and to the north east the Marmara where it met the Bosporos.

  She had delayed their meeting but Anatolius had persisted. She was in her late twenties, one of the pretty, well-born women whose sole purpose seemed to be to decorate the home of a similarly well-born man. Anatolius knew from experience all of the carefully painted little statuettes were far more complicated than they seemed when one got to know them better, and also that it was not easy, and ultimately not desirable, to get to know them better.

  “How can you help me?” Gordia asked. “Martinus is dead.”

  “But whoever killed him is at large. Surely you want him brought to justice?”

  “It would not bring any comfort, if that’s what you are implying.”

  Anatolius stared out over the sparkling waters where ships lay scattered like a child’s abandoned toys. She had agreed to see him but had not offered a cup of wine, or even a seat. “You would not wish an innocent man executed for a murder he didn’t commit, would you?”

&n
bsp; “Martinus was executed for no reason at all.”

  He explained to her as vaguely as possible, without naming names, how her knowledge of her late husband’s activities might provide vital clues which would prevent more innocent blood being spilled.

  “But you see, I knew nothing about his activities.”

  “You knew he was visiting the captain of the excubitors from the note he left. Didn’t that seem unusual to you?”

  Gordia looked at him, the eyes in her blandly painted features wells of infinite weariness. “Martinus gambled. He was very deeply in debt. Everyone at court knows the captain is a gambler. I supposed it had something to do with that.” Her cheekbones flushed with sudden anger. “No doubt you will tell me I should have expected it. That’s what you get when your husband becomes involved with a bad element. That’s what most of my friends have told me!”

  “If we were all murdered for our weaknesses there would be no one left in the city.”

  “You do have a silver tongue, don’t you? I apologize for not offering you any hospitality. I do not have a proper staff at present. Our head servant vanished a few days before…well…and I thought I had too much to deal with when that happened.”

  “Could there be a connection between this vanished servant and your husband’s death? Did you report the servant missing?”

  “Certainly not. I believe it was a case of Martinus not paying him his wages on time. It was always happening. Rather than paying the servants he’d bet on the races. It is not the sort of matter I would wish known.” She paused. “I don’t want you to think Martinus was a bad man. It’s true he ran with the Blues when he was a boy and he came before the magistrates more than once because of it. He had put all that behind him and he would have put the gambling behind him too if he’d had the chance.”

  Anatolius was thinking rapidly.

  Was Martinus’ missing servant somehow also involved? Martinus had been in the same straits as Felix, who had admitted his financial problems led to his recruitment into the affair. Had that been the case with Martinus, who had once been a Blue and was now unable to refuse cooperating in the thefts for fear of consequences? Porphyrius had used Blues to administer the beating Felix had received. If Porphyrius was organizing thefts of relics, or even if he were merely involved, the situation began to look very like a web with the old charioteer squatting in the center. Or rather lurking unseen at one side, as spiders often do, ready to scuttle out when there was prey to claim.