Four for a Boy Page 10

  “Would I? Even the most trusted guards have ears, Proclus. Yes, on reflection, I should have allowed someone else to take the throne. My life would have been simpler.”

  “The Master of Offices was incompetent. As for your other rival, Amantius…he was a villain, to say the least. A treacherous eunuch. Would you have allowed him to place his own man on the throne?”

  “There are those who think I am more treacherous still,” Justin replied. “My nephew, to name but one. He believes I condemned Amantius for no other reason than to serve my own ambition. Naturally, he fears I intend to employ the same strategy with him, which is to say executing him for the murder of Hypatius. My own nephew, a man I have educated and nurtured and made my heir, believes this vile lie! How do I know, you wonder? Let’s just say that, like my guards, the walls of the Hormisdas have ears. Perhaps, after all, I am not a foolish old man to wish to speak to you privately here.”

  His voice was so low that Proclus could barely make out his words over the sound of water reverberating around the rectangular space. At the base of the waterfall tumbling from the terrace above an alabaster Diana stood poised on a marble outcrop in the middle of a pool whose edges were lost in thick undergrowth.

  The moon had risen. As his eyes grew accustomed to its stark, blue light, Proclus could see other alabaster forms, a deer, a goat, a boar, half concealed amid rampant bushes. The pale animals looked alive and made him uneasy, although less so than when he looked up at the rectangle of sky. Then he felt as if he was standing at the bottom of a freshly dug grave.

  “Your humors are troubling you this evening, Caesar, and naturally your nephew’s illness worries you, as it does everyone,” he offered. “All these ridiculous plots people gossip about are no more real than that hare by your foot.”

  Justin let out a wheezing cough. The long walk down to the garden had taxed his strength. “I have placed my trust in you, Proclus. I want to make certain you know exactly what is going on so you can take appropriate measures should anything happen to me.”

  “Happen? What do you mean?” “If I knew what might happen, I could prevent it,” Justin snapped back. “When the streets are on fire who can predict where the wind will carry sparks? You must be prepared for all eventualities.”

  “The City Prefect is bringing the troublemakers firmly under control, exactly as you ordered,” Proclus assured him.

  “Is he? How can a man who dabbles in magick and potions be trusted?”

  “I thought you placed great faith in that painkilling concoction he brings you?”

  “To relieve this agony, Proclus, I would deal with Satan. I am not saying that the Gourd does not serve me, but that he is most unreliable. He has strange notions. The other day he told me he knows a man who has unlocked the secret of flight. The Gourd was very excited. He envisions his men soaring above the city, spying out malefactors, swooping down upon them. How can you trust a man with such delusions?”

  “Nevertheless, he is making the streets safer, by all accounts.”

  “Would this be for my benefit, or to further his own ambitions?”

  “You think that he has designs on the throne, Caesar?”

  “He has accumulated quite a large force to keep order in the city,” Justin pointed out, “and whereas my excubitors may be better trained and armed, their numbers are far fewer.”

  Proclus hastily assured him of the Prefect’s loyalty.

  “Justinian trusts him even less than I do,” Justin replied. “He claims that is why he initiated his investigation into Hypatius’ death. On the contrary, I believe it was launched because he’s afraid I’ve ordered the Gourd to produce evidence implicating him.”

  “You would never do such a thing.” Proclus sounded shocked.

  “Of course not! However, Justinian has a certain someone whispering poisonous thoughts in his ear all hours of the day and night, doesn’t he?”

  From the darkness came the faint mournful call of some nocturnal bird Proclus did not recognize. The quaestor had never taken an interest in the outdoors. To him, night meant neatly scrivened sheets of laws softly glowing in lamplight, and perhaps a splash of wine at the end of his labors.

  “Surely Justinian is as interested in finding out the truth about Hypatius’ death as you are,” he finally ventured.

  Justin laughed. “How do you suppose a slave and an excubitor are going to solve such a mystery? Justinian is simply giving a less than subtle warning, telling me he is aware of my supposed conspiracy against him. As if the emperor needs to conspire to remain in power! All I need to do that is order an execution and it is done. That, of course, is what my nephew fears.”

  He sighed. “Doubtless, the slave is also there to keep an eye on the Gourd, just as Felix has been instructed, except of course the one reports to me and the other to Justinian. Why do you imagine the Gourd’s so angry about those two? Frankly, it makes me suspect he’s up to something he doesn’t want me to know about. And naturally Felix is also keeping watch on Justinian’s slave for me. Oh, my nephew and I have had a long conversation about all this, dancing about the subject without ever once coming right out and saying what we meant. It’s all very tiresome, Proclus. All of us at court have to deceive endlessly in order to keep each other honest.”

  His companion’s brow wrinkled as he considered the matter. “A pair of informers, known to be such not only to each other but also to the person both are supposed to be informing on…that would appear to create an impasse. If they do manage to find out who murdered Hypatius, so much the better. A most intelligent strategy, Caesar. My compliments.” He bowed.

  “You don’t need to flatter me, Proclus,” Justin replied, sounding pleased. “Now tell me this. How do you know I didn’t order you to accompany me to this secluded place so you could be strangled?”

  “Caesar?” The garden, frosted by moonlight and populated by indistinctly seen creatures lurking in thick vegetation, suddenly appeared sinister and unwelcoming.

  “Don’t tell me you harbor no ambitions! Yet as I said, I do trust you, and so I will tell you a secret. Ah, you look distressed. It isn’t healthy to know an emperor’s secrets, is it? Nevertheless, be warned, I have no intention of replacing Justinian with another heir. He is my blood kin, my sister’s son, and I promised her when I adopted him that I would raise him up to succeed me. He is like the son Euphemia and I could not have.”

  Proclus murmured a few words of sympathy.

  “Besides which, it’s the actress who’s the cause of most of the trouble between Justinian and me.” Justin sighed. “She’s the one who keeps urging him to take action. Why the haste? My nephew’s only just in his forties. A young man compared to me. He has plenty of time left to rule. First, though, he must realize that he has to dispose of that vile woman. It might be that this rift between us will help him see his folly, along with the inevitable cooling off of passion. Or so Euphemia has advised me.” The emperor moved stiffly on the bench, again shifting his weight, but not the pain from his leg.

  Proclus briefly wondered how successful Justin would be in having Justinian removed from the succession in the absence of an excellent pretext, given his nephew’s popularity. He didn’t voice those thoughts, however. “I assure you I have no designs on the throne, Caesar,” he repeated, still expecting to hear stealthy movement behind him at any instant.

  “You don’t want to be emperor, believe me. I was ambitious and what has it come to? As a young man I left Dardania with two companions. We had nothing but the clothes on our backs and a crust or two of bread for provisions. You know the saying that something that happened long ago might have occurred only yesterday? Well, our journey might have begun just this morning. I’m not old and sick, really, merely tired and footsore from a long day’s walk.”

  Justin closed his eyes, the better to view his memories. “I recall crossing a stone bridge as we left,” he said. “The stream was low. Then a little way past the bridge there was the sma
ll cemetery where all our kinfolk are buried. Yes, we left both the living and the dead behind to come to Constantinople, seeking a better life.”

  Proclus listened intently as the ailing man described his long-ago odyssey.

  “The three of us walked that dusty, rutted road,” Justin recalled. “Sometimes we sang, sometimes we marched along in silence. At night we slept wherever we could find shelter. And we kept walking for many days. I wasn’t expecting a great future. The thought of rising to be Captain of Excubitors never crossed my mind, and as for one day ruling the empire, well…No, all we looked forward to each dawn was the end of the day when we could rest and eat whatever we had managed to find. I achieved more than any man could hope to accomplish, yet what does any of it matter now? It’s all behind me.”

  “I pray that is not so, Caesar.”

  Justin opened his eyes, but turned his head to look toward the far corner of the garden rather than at Proclus. “It is all as nothing. I might have dreamt being emperor. Memories have no more substance than dreams, and in the end all our lives will become only memories. I’ve led men into battle, seen kings kneel before me. I’ve raised great churches to the glory of the Lord, heard the accolades of thousands in the Hippodrome. Yet if I had only an hour of my life to live again, it would be the first time I shared the bed of the girl I married. So much for all our ambitions, my loyal quaestor.”

  Proclus said nothing.

  Justin leaned forward and peered attentively into the shadows clustered around the cascade of trailing vines at the far end of the garden. “Ah, Euphemia, my dear, there you are. I have been waiting for you. Leave us alone for a while now, Proclus.”

  Proclus followed the emperor’s gaze. Back there, partially obscured by a black filigree of tree limbs, something pale caught the moonlight. It was nothing more than an unhealthy mist rising, he thought uneasily. Yet the shape was vaguely that of a woman. A statue, then. One he had not noticed before. He bowed and backed away from Justin’s presence.

  Proclus did not stop until he was a few paces from the guards who waited just outside the door to the concealed garden. He did not want to risk overhearing the emperor’s conversation.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sitting in Lady Anna’s study the next morning, John could still feel Felix’s weight. It was as if the excubitor were perched on his shoulders like a demon which had arrived during a nightmare and refused to depart with the morning light.

  “You look pained, John. Is my work so poor?” Lady Anna’s unpainted lips were set in a line of concern.

  “It’s well done, Lady Anna.” John set aside the copying exercise he had been correcting and managed a smile. Anna’s answering smile blossomed.

  Anna might not have been considered a beauty by court standards. There was nothing striking about her features and she did not use cosmetics to paint herself a new face. John, however, found her intelligence attractive. It was a pity that her intelligence did not extend to an understanding of more worldly concerns, or, more precisely, other peoples’ concerns involving herself.

  John made an effort to banish the excubitor’s phantom weight. His memories of dark streets and recent events, so inappropriate here, drew back a step.

  In this room, painted roses bloomed on walls and climbed over arbors formed by arched niches holding the scrolls and codices Anna collected as other women might hoard jewelry.

  “Am I progressing well with this strange language?” Anna sounded anxious.

  John smiled again. “In a few more months you will be speaking Persian like a native.” His expression clouded for a heartbeat and then cleared again. Not quickly enough to escape the notice of his aristocratic pupil.

  “You hate the Persians.” It was a statement rather than a question.

  “Many hate them. With good reason.”

  “Why then did you learn their language?”

  “Of necessity.”

  Lady Anna picked a scroll from the neat pile on her writing desk. “I’ve been trying to translate this romantic tale, John. It is really quite beautiful. The man has not seen the woman since childhood. One day her litter goes past and the wind disturbs its curtain. When he sees her, he is so overcome that he faints and falls off his horse!”

  “Unfortunately, the Persians who formed my opinions weren’t prone to swooning in their saddles.”

  “But aren’t they just like us? Most of us aren’t violent, grasping after power and wealth. Should Persians judge all Romans by the actions of a ruthless man such as the Gourd?”

  “If they are prudent, they will.” John broke off, appalled not only at his own words but the tone. “I am sorry, Lady Anna. I spoke out of turn.”

  “But in this perhaps you can learn from me? You are not a man filled with hatred, like so many at the palace. Why do you then hate the Persians so?”

  “With respect, slaves should not burden others with their pasts.”

  Anna toyed with her still furled scroll. She tapped it against her lips, then stared out over it at John. “I could order you to tell me…”

  “Lady Anna…”

  “I would not do that. The positions we occupy in society are not of our choosing, but our loyalties certainly are.” Anna laid her scroll back on the pile. “When I’m somewhat more fluent and have accomplished my translation I shall show it to you. The story concerns love between a man and the wife of his brother. A most improper love, yet I can understand it.”

  “I shall report your continued progress to your father,” John said, changing the subject.

  Anna sighed. “Yes, I’m sure father will be pleased by my achievements. I wonder why so many don’t realize there are greater enemies closer to home than at the border?”

  Hardly a surprising comment, John thought, given the recent attempt on her father’s life. Seizing his opportunity, he asked her hesitantly if she had any thoughts on who might wish to harm the senator.

  “When men become powerful, they have as many enemies as a ship has barnacles,” Anna replied. “Then, too often, men have long memories. They nurse grudges for years until their chance for revenge arrives. Or they have one too many burdens to carry, or some other reason, trifling perhaps in itself, but one that causes them to finally strike.” She paused. “Isn’t it said that the best revenge is one that has been contemplated for some time?”

  “Certainly many hold it to be so. But as to that, although many thought very highly of Hypatius surely he too had enemies?”

  Lady Anna shook her head. “You would have to ask those who knew him best, I suppose.” She paused. From further back in the house came the sound of a loud argument. The shrill voices of two women could be heard; they obscenely taunted each other, apparently having fallen out over a man whom one claimed was her lover, a claim hotly disputed with lascivious details by the other.

  Anna looked neither shocked nor surprised. “Those two are always fighting. I shall have to quench this outburst before father returns. He doesn’t need strife breaking out in his kitchen as well as on the doorstep. If I have to warn them again they will have to go. This seems to be a good time to end my lessons for today, John, so I will say goodbye for now.”

  John remained in Anna’s study and finished correcting her work before going into the corridor. He did not care to witness women’s squabbles nor to extend his increasingly uncomfortable visit, so rather then passing through the kitchen to the servants’ entrance, he decided he could be forgiven for leaving by the front door for once. Especially if nobody saw him.

  Just as he crossed the atrium, however, voices and the stamping of feet at the entrance announced the arrival of Senator Opimius and a companion.

  “Ah, John, are you leaving?” the senator said. “Remain for now, please. I want to speak to you about my daughter’s progress.” Turning to his companion he added, “This is the man I mentioned to you, Aurelius, the one I borrowed from the palace to tutor Anna.”

  “And what are you teaching her, John
?” The visitor arched an imperious eyebrow. His features had the look of the classical busts Justinian had imported and placed all around the Hormisdas Palace, although a tactful sculptor would certainly have chiseled away the nascent, middle-aged jowls. He could be nothing but a senator. A sharp contrast to Opimius, who resembled an assistant to the overseer of an obscure administrative department.

  “I am helping her to learn Persian, sir.”

  Aurelius ran his hand through black curls. Once, they might have been unruly, but they were now thinning and beginning to silver. “An interesting choice of languages. I suppose it’s prudent to know your enemies.”

  “What is more important,” put in Opimius, “is knowing which of our acquaintances are also enemies. Anna chose the subject of her lessons herself. She wanted to try to learn something challenging, she said.”

  “And what will she decide to study next? If I were you, I would be happier if the next subject she takes an interest in is one of Justin’s subjects. An unmarried one.”

  “A thought that has crossed my mind more than once, Aurelius. But then you are a father yourself.”

  “Yes, it won’t be long before Penelope and I will have to start considering matrimonial alliances for Anatolius. Not to mention placing him in a good post at court. Now, if only your Anna were younger or my son was older.”

  The conversation was interrupted by two laborers in dirt encrusted breeches. The men strolled across the atrium, paused to give Opimius vague, deferential bows and continued on their way.

  Aurelius raised his eyebrow again.

  “The bath house hypocaust is not working,” Opimius explained. “Of all times to fail. Naturally just when I’d prefer not to be obliged to venture out to the public baths.”

  “A problem with the flues perhaps?”

  “Possibly. Fate can be unkind even to senators,” Opimius replied, going on to suggest they repair to his office. One glance was all John needed to know that his attendance was required there also. He could not help thinking that if Opimius’ greatest worry was a malfunctioning hypocaust, then perhaps Fate treated senators very lightly indeed.