Eight for Eternity Page 16

  “I can vouch for him,” John said. “He told me he chose the guards himself. Men he knows and trusts. He’s questioned them all separately and compared their stories. There’s no indication any of them left their posts or have any secret connections with anyone who might have wished to do Haik, or your family, harm.”

  “Silentiaries are what we need. Men better known to the emperor,” Hypatius insisted.

  “Maybe it’s Justinian who wants the relatives of Anastasius out of his way,” muttered Pompeius.

  “Haik showed signs of poisoning but there’s no evidence of the poison,” John said. “The wine jug in his room was empty and there was no food. It could have been administered anywhere.”

  “It’s true not all poisons take effect immediately.” Hypatius directed a meaningful look toward Pompeius. “How well do you know your servants? Have you questioned them?”

  John’s mouth narrowed into a thin line before he spoke. “If I could find them I would. They’ve left.”

  “Left? Every one of them?”

  “They all came in a rush when Haik was dying,” John said. “They must have talked it over and realized they would all be under suspicion.”

  “That’s clear evidence of guilt,” said Hypatius.

  “Not necessarily. How could they all be guilty? With the city in chaos it’s a perfect time for slaves to slip away to freedom. I can’t say I blame them.”

  “They must be apprehended. Brought back and questioned.”

  “And who is available to do that? I doubt the servants were involved. The fact remains that no one was allowed in or out of the house.”

  “Until the servants fled,” pointed out Hypatius.

  “Yes,” John admitted. “They got out while the guards were searching the house for a possible assailant. But that’s done with. I have to base my inquiries on the resources I have available. Which, at present, is the two of you. Did either of you know Haik previously?”

  “Not at all. Why would we?” Hypatius replied.

  “You spent time in the Antioch area, didn’t you? Haik was a mercenary there. Now he owns an estate.”

  “I was commanding the forces in the east! I didn’t mingle with common fighters and petty landowners!”

  “Yet the last word Haik uttered was your name. Dying men do not usually mention people they’ve never met with their final breath.”

  “My brother is a very popular fellow,” put in Pompeius. “Emperors seek out his services. Mobs revere him. Dying men call out his name.”

  Hypatius looked horrified.

  “Not all of his words were intelligible, but at the very end, he said, ‘…the document…Chosroes…missing…ask Hypatius….’ The words were clear. The meaning is not clear. Explain.”

  “Document? Chosroes? I…I have no idea. When I was fighting the Persians, Cabades was still the king. I had nothing to do with his son…except….” All the color left Hypatius’ face. He resembled an unpainted marble bust of Anastasius John often passed by in a corridor deep within the administrative warrens of the palace. “He might have meant the adoption documents.”

  “Continue.”

  Hypatius closed his eyes for a heartbeat and exhaled, calming himself. “You remember, several years ago, Justin almost adopted Chosroes?”

  John nodded. He had been in a lowly position, serving the Keeper of the Plate, but everyone at the palace heard the rumors. For Justin the adoption meant peace with the Persians. For Cabades it meant strengthening the claim of his youngest son to succeed him. “How would I forget? Everyone at court was convinced Justin was turning the empire over to the Persians and they would have to prostrate themselves before the rising sun every morning. Then a two headed dog—or was it a cat?—was spotted in the Forum Bovis and the Persians were immediately forgotten.”

  “Unfortunately Cabades and Chosroes weren’t so quick to forget the break down in negotiations.”

  “Indeed, the war might have ended years ago, but at what price? Were documents actually drawn up? I understood that the adoption was to be by arms and armor only?”

  “That’s right. Justin’s legal counselor cautioned against an adoption by Roman law. Proclus feared it might give Chosroes a claim to the empire. Ridiculous, really. We’ve been trying to make peace with the Persians one way or another for centuries. Look at this Eternal Peace Justinian has decided on. It was a diplomatic gesture. It has nothing to do with succession.”

  “Proclus was known as a prudent man,” John observed.

  “Overly prudent,” put in Pompeius. “If you wanted to wager him on whether the sun would rise tomorrow he’d insist you define ‘rise’ and ‘tomorrow’ and stipulate to how it would be proved the sun was actually up if it was obscured by clouds.”

  Hypatius’ eyes narrowed. “In this case I agree with my brother. Proclus’ prudence nearly cost me my head.”

  “Why was that?” John asked.

  “The Persians took our offer as an insult. Adoption by arms and armor was the barbarian way. They weren’t impressed that it had been good enough for Theodoric who was after all king of Italy.” Hypatius paused, took another deep breath.

  “I remember every detail of those negotiations. An enormous tent had been set up near the Persian border. An assortment of second-rate statuary was supposed to make the place look official. Most of it Greek warriors and eastern gods resembling demons. It looked like the courtyard of some dealer in dubious antiquities at the far end of the Mese. It was sweltering inside. I could hardly breath between the stifling heat and the overpowering perfumes the Persians soak everything with. I find myself wandering through the place in my nightmares.”

  “He is such a dainty person,” his brother put in.

  Hypatius ignored him. “It wasn’t my fault. I don’t think the negotiators were serious to begin with. I suspect the second son, Zames, had influenced them.”

  “He was the son most of the Persians wanted to see on the throne, wasn’t he? A warrior.”

  “Yes. If he hadn’t had an eye put out he wouldn’t have been disqualified under Persian law and we’d never have heard of Chosroes. At any rate they brought up Lazica, as if the area were still in dispute. Finally they stalked off. Chosroes had camped on the other side of the Tigris, prepared to return to Constantinople with us. He was humiliated and angry.”

  “If he had come here, he would have been a hostage, in effect,” John said.

  “But he would have been present when Justin died and, according to Proclus, the legal heir to the empire.”

  “If my brother had been in the city when Anastasius died he would have been emperor rather than Justin,” Pompeius pointed out. “In fact he’d be emperor right now. He’s always in the wrong place at the wrong time, but has had the good fortune to escape with his life nevertheless. Why do you think I’ve attached myself to him like a limpet during these riots? He even came away from that diplomatic fiasco unscathed.”

  “Don’t remind me. It was a close call. There were those who sought to blame me for the failure. It was claimed I had purposefully betrayed the empire. I was an heir of Anastasius, after all, so obviously I was seeking to take my rightful place. The emperor was suspicious. He had several of my friends tortured. Nothing happened to me, luckily.” Hypatius’ voice shook.

  “Lucky indeed,” John remarked. He did not believe a pair as cowardly and ineffectual as the brothers appeared to be could have survived so long, let alone maintained their positions at court. More than luck was involved. One might make a lucky throw of the knucklebones on a given day, but not day after day for years on end. “What about this document Haik referred to? If you were not instructed to offer an adoption by Roman law you would not have needed documents.”

  “I wasn’t given any documents. But Justin—and Justinian—were enthused when they first heard the offer, before Proclus talked them out of it. They could have had documents drawn up and sent on ahead to be ready for the negotiations they were
expecting. Any legal papers should have been destroyed when the plan changed.”

  “But perhaps someone simply took the document instead, as a curiosity, or with an eye toward monetary gain.”

  “Or a cup of wine,” suggested Pompeius. “Some illiterate servant poking at the embers where he was burning the trash noticed the fancy lettering, took it down to the nearest tavern and exchanged it for a cup of wine.”

  “That’s possible,” John said. “And now it appears to have been stolen again. Haik said it was missing, ask Hypatius. Do you know anything about it?”

  Hypatius met John’s steady gaze with surprising calm. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I kill a man over such a document? And obviously nothing more than a draft, since the adoption never came about.”

  Pompeius noisily spit out another olive pit. It clicked off the wall and ticked down onto the tiles. “Who cares, anyway? Justin couldn’t have left the throne to a son, adopted or otherwise. Any fool knows the emperorship doesn’t pass by blood.”

  “Proclus reasoned that it is a universal law, among all peoples, that the son is master of the father’s estate,” Hypatius said. “The empire might be considered Justin’s estate.”

  “More importantly, such a document could be used to discredit Justinian,” John pointed out. “It is commonly thought that he was really running the empire during Justin’s last years. Justin’s signature on a document giving the empire to the Persians, as some would characterize it, would be as damning as Justinian’s own.”

  Hypatius licked his lips nervously. “If it were signed. And you think Haik brought this document with him?”

  “It seems so. Are you sure you aren’t a thief, and a murderer too?”

  “I can see you’re just trying to make me angry,” Pompeius said mildly. “You’re hoping I might forget myself and blurt out something incriminating. But the last thing in the world I want is to see Justinian deposed, or to give the rabble any hope that they might put me on the throne. I value my head too much.”

  “Do you know Porphyrius?” John asked.

  “The charioteer? Not personally. Do you think he’s involved?”

  John was silent. He preferred not to reveal his suspicions to the brothers. On the other hand he needed information, if they had any. He looked away from Hypatius, toward the screen. It was the middle of the night. Beyond the screen lay the dark tangle of the garden, and on the other side of the garden the door to the room where Haik’s lifeless body lay, submerged forever in a darkness beyond that of any night.

  Pompeius reached for the glass wine decanter.

  “Can’t you at least try to stop drinking?” Hypatius shouted. “The city’s going up in flames. Justinian thinks we’re spies. Someone’s quite possibly trying to murder us. It might help if you could think straight.”

  Pompeius shrugged and filled his cup. “I don’t see how.” He took a long gulp and then turned to John. “But it seems a strange coincidence you should mention Porphyrius. He spent years in the east, in Antioch, and not just racing chariots either. Twenty-five years ago he led an attack on the synagogue there. Plundered and set fire to it, massacred every Jew he could lay hands on. Then in a final insult he set up a cross on the ruins. A fine man, is Porphyrius. Just the man to stir up trouble, too.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  January 15, 532

  Felix picked Eros up by his gilded wings and shook him.

  “Don’t kill me,” screeched the costumed boy. “I’ll tell you how to get to Antonina’s apartments.”

  Felix dropped the little godlet. One of the wings crunched against the tiled floor. A cloud of powder shaken off the boy’s clothing and face hung in the corridor.

  Felix struggled not to cough.

  The boy scrambled to his knees, the broken wing dangling pathetically from his narrow back. He was one of the court pages who decorated certain inner sanctums at the great palace. Only now he was not so decorative. Tears ran down his face and the rosy makeup on his cheeks was blotched. “Just turn right at the next hallway.” The boy snuffled. “Then right again. Not that you’ll be admitted.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be admitted.” Felix felt for the sword at his belt.

  The page got to his feet and wiped at his eyes. “You’re not going to put your sword into her, are you?”

  “Of course not. I’m a friend of hers.”

  “But not so good a friend as to put your sword into her?” The smeared lip coloring accentuated the boy’s leer. He started to back away.

  Felix reached out and grabbed a scrawny arm. “I’m not letting you run off and alert the guards. Show me the way.”

  He pushed the boy in front of him and drew his sword.

  Suddenly the floor seemed to lurch beneath his boots, nearly throwing him backwards. He was almost overcome by dizziness. Why he could not say. He put his free hand out to the wall, steadying himself.

  How had he managed to make his way so far inside the Daphne Palace? He couldn’t quite recall. A fog kept swallowing up the immediate past, as it had two nights ago, when he had been running around the gardens attacking statuary. Apparently the trained excubitors who usually watched these precincts had been sent to secure the palace walls against the rioters. It might also be that the emperor didn’t want the excubitors so close to him, given Captain Gallio’s practically treasonous stance. Whatever the reason, the usual guards had been replaced with doddering old silentiaries used to posing ornamentally at doorways and scholarae who normally paraded on horseback when the emperor required spectacle.

  So far they had all been willing to let Felix pass on the basis of the orders from Gallio—orders intended to allow him to move freely enough to carry out his duties toward the Anastasius family. They didn’t give him the right to wander around the Daphne Palace, but Felix’s blade and demeanor discouraged any of the hangers-on from daring to actually read what was on the parchment beyond identifying Gallio’s official signature.

  “Go on,” Felix told the boy gruffly. “Don’t try running away. My blade will move faster than you do.”

  The boy went slowly down the corridor and turned left.

  “I thought you told me to turn right?” Felix said.

  “I didn’t, did I? You scared me so. I don’t know what I was saying.”

  “No tricks, Eros. No one will care much about a dead page. They’ll be more concerned about the bloodstains on the floor.”

  The boy emitted a faint whimper and continued on, his broken wing dragging on the floor.

  Felix followed warily. It was all very strange. It occurred to him that he should be at his post at John’s house, particularly since John’s friend had been murdered a few hours ago. Possibly by an intruder. Poisoned? Had Felix been poisoned too? Had the intruder found his way into the kitchen? Was that why Felix felt so peculiar? What exactly had he eaten at John’s house most recently? He couldn’t recall. Oddly enough, it all seemed unimportant.

  He may as well have been lying in bed, dreaming. How foolhardy could someone be, not only to abandon their post at a time of peril, but to do so to visit the imperial quarters to pay a surprise call on a woman friend of Theodora’s? It must be a dream and since it was only a dream—and a most entertaining one—he did not want to wake himself. Besides, he felt a compulsion that overrode reason. Just as he had in the gardens the other night.

  After all, Antonina had invited him to meet her in secret. Now it was he who was arranging the meeting. She would surely be delighted and it would be as it had been in the Hall of the Nineteen Couches. However it had been there. He could not remember anything about it, except that it had been very, very good, until he woke up hacking at Emperor Constantine. That hadn’t been so good.

  Another wave of dizziness hit him.

  How odd. He had felt fine since John had hauled him out of the gardens after his tryst with Antonina. Until he woke up this morning. Then he had felt almost drunk, although he had not been drinking. It wasn�
��t surprising that he felt peculiar, though, since clearly he hadn’t really awakened yet.

  The boy vanished around a corner and Felix lurched after him.

  “Stop! Don’t go any further!”

  Felix blinked. He had fallen into a daze. He swung his sword. The figure blocking in his path leapt out of harm’s way.

  “You stupid man! Can’t you see? It’s me, Julianna.”

  Felix gaped in horror at the slight girl dressed in blue, dark hair coiled on either side of her face.

  Julianna’s eyes blazed with fury. “Not only did I just save myself, I saved you from a horrible death in the dungeons. What’s the matter with you? What are you doing here?”

  “I need to see Antonina,” Felix stammered.

  “Did she send for you?”

  “Yes. Or, rather…not exactly.”

  “Look at me, Felix.” Julianna stared into his eyes and gave a sniff of disgust. “I can see what the problem is. I should have guessed.”

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “No. You’re not. You’re…well…never mind.”

  The haze that kept closing in on Felix dissipated a bit. He could suddenly see his surroundings more clearly. “Where’s the boy? He’s run off. He’ll fetch the guards.”

  “Don’t worry,” Julianna said. “I’m appointing you to be my bodyguard. In case anyone questions why you’re here. Which means you use that sword on anyone who comes after me. Not on me. Put it away.”

  Felix slipped his blade back into its scabbard. “But what are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been to see Antonina. She’s a good friend.”

  “Then you can take me to her.”

  “I hardly think so. Belisarius’ men are protecting her, as they are the imperial couple and a few others. They aren’t traitors like the excubitors or incompetent cowards like the court fops who’ve taken their places.”

  “But…I’m your bodyguard.”

  “Believe me, Felix, Antonina doesn’t want to see you right now.”

  Felix shook his head, trying to clear it. His ears buzzed. His surroundings were beginning to seem more solid, less dream-like. “But I am your bodyguard. I’m supposed to be guarding you, at John’s house. You shouldn’t be here. How did you get out?”