Nine for the Devil jte-9 Read online

  As he walked out of the mansion into the shadow of the Hippodrome, he wondered who would drain Theodora’s cup of sorrow. Not people like Antonina. People like Kuria, cast adrift from palace life with no prospects except returning to a life of selling herself to strangers.

  The same people who always drank from imperial cups of sorrow.

  If only the painted empress could lift the veil of mist that obscured his vision and reveal the solution he sought.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Though it had already been a grueling day, John decided to talk to General Germanus, another interview designed largely to satisfy Justinian. If Antonina was pointing an accusative finger at the emperor’s cousin others would do the same. However discreetly, once word reached Justinian he would expect to hear John had looked into the matter.

  It was not his normal way of conducting an inquiry to be pointed this way and that, but then his inquiries normally revolved around an actual murder rather than one imagined by the emperor.

  Or rather one that John feared was imagined by the emperor. He hoped for his own sake and his family’s sake that his initial impression was mistaken.

  For the time being John intended to interview those he would be expected to interview. Once he had fulfilled that obligation, if nothing had shown up to point him in a specific direction…well, he wasn’t certain what he would do.

  John was trying to dismiss such doleful thoughts, as well as thoughts of the dinner Hypatia had no doubt prepared by now, when a supercilious doorkeeper informed him that the general was not seeing visitors. John thrust his orders and the attached imperial seal he always carried under the fellow’s upturned nose. The man cringed and explained Germanus was not seeing visitors because he was not at home. He was at the Baths of Zeuxippos.

  The baths, between the entrance to the palace and the Hippodrome, was an immense complex of pools, gymnasiums, lecture halls, meeting rooms, and shops. John bought a skewer of grilled swordfish from a vendor who had set up his brazier near the wide stairs leading up to the baths’ entrance. The vendor was better at cooking it than John, not nearly as proficient as Peter. When John finished, feeling only slightly less famished, he threw the skewer into the gutter, went up the stairs, and paid an attendant the paltry admission fee.

  The atrium was as vast as a public square and packed with people. Some wore elaborately decorated garments, others leather leggings and dirty tunics. Voices echoed hollowly around the towering walls and up into the distant dome. None of the baths were visible but the air was noticeably humid. Corridors led off in all directions. It would have been difficult to locate an individual quickly but it was easy to spot the entourage which accompanied generals wherever they go. John found the contingent in a gallery lined with statues.

  There were enough men and arms to have conquered the entire bath complex in less than an hour. They were big men, as broad and muscular as the larger-then-life-size bronze Hercules beside whose pedestal they stood. Germanus was one of the smaller men, wearing a subdued rust-colored dalmatic rather than a leather cuirass. In his early forties, Germanus was, like Justinian, a nephew of the late Emperor Justin. Unlike Justinian, his appearance betrayed his peasant origins. He had a blocky build, powerful, sloping shoulders, a thick neck. His dark hair and beard were trimmed almost to a stubble.

  As John approached, Germanus grinned, displaying square ivory-hued teeth. The big men surrounding him did not grin. They stared. Scarred fists tightened on spears and swords.

  “Lord Chamberlain! I’ve been expecting you. The palace is buzzing over your inquiries and I know some busy bees have aimed their stingers at me. The question is, who sent you?”

  “You’ll understand I can’t answer that, general.”

  Germanus’ grin broadened. “Not that it matters. I can guess.” He glanced around at his scowling bodyguards. “You will understand why my men are surly and wary. There are those who can’t believe I intend to wait my turn to take the throne and just might want to stop me from doing so.”

  “It’s common knowledge Justinian intends you to succeed him, even though he did not make it official while Theodora was alive.”

  “Considering her hatred for me and my family, can we be surprised? You’ll doubtless agree I wouldn’t have any reason to kill Theodora. She might influence the emperor while he’s alive but she could hardly influence him to deny me the throne when he was dead.”

  “She might have convinced him to anoint a new heir before he died.”

  Germanus laughed. “I wasn’t looking that far ahead. It doesn’t matter now. I’m happy for my whole family, Lord Chamberlain. My daughter Justina and her husband can return to Constantinople. They’ve been living on one of my estates in Bithynia, near the hot springs. My son-in-law feared for his life when it was rumored Theodora ordered Antonina to have him killed merely for marrying against her imperial wishes.”

  “Was there any particular reason Theodora objected to the marriage?”

  “Spite, Lord Chamberlain. That was all. My sons still aren’t married. Justina defied her. She was eighteen. How much longer could she wait?”

  Theodora had a penchant for interfering with marriages. John wondered if Cornelia was right, that interference in personal relationships was more likely to result in retaliation than political, religious, or financial meddling. When power or money was at stake people acted with a clear view of Theodora’s enormous power. When the issue was personal, passions reigned.

  He was reminded of Europa, who had never been far from his mind lately. It irked him to have to remain in the city, chasing shadows, when he should be beside his daughter.

  Germanus strolled away from the bronze Hercules and his retinue flowed with him. John remained at his side.

  The gallery featured a mismatched collection of bronze figures: pagan gods, philosophers, military men, anonymous Greeks who had been famous enough to immortalize in a long distant era.

  “It’s not as impressive as when I was a boy,” Germanus said. “Before the mob burned the baths down during the Nika riots, there were some magnificent works here.”

  “I remember.”

  “One day the whole imperial school was herded over here to hear Christodorus perform his poem about the statues. A tiny, shriveled-up Egyptian with lungs like one of Justinian’s heralds. He took us from statue to statue, thundering out his descriptions of each. The bronze was silent. He kept telling us that. Then he would help the mute bronze out by imagining what Homer or Sappho or Apollo was thinking. As if he had any way of knowing. We would have been just as happy if he was silent. We were only interested in the heroes, or at least the boys were. Pretending to battle Achilles. Hiding behind Ulysses.”

  It was hard to imagine the burly, dark-bearded man as a child. It was easier to imagine him battling Achilles. He differed from his imperial cousin in that he was actually a military man. He had fought on the battlefield, had his horse killed under him on one occasion, and nearly died himself. A true soldier emperor in the Roman tradition.

  “It was not the educational experience your tutors desired,” John observed.

  “No, but I’m certain Christodorus received a fee. Poets have to earn a living somehow.” Germanus stopped in front of a bronze Aphrodite. “This is the only statue rescued from the ruins, and not entirely intact. Years after that performance I looked the verse up. ‘Her breasts were bare but her robes were gathered around her rounded thighs.’ A true enough description, but now she has only a single breast. The goddess of love turned into an Amazon warrior!”

  The restorers had done their best to repair the statue. Perhaps they had honestly mistaken her for an Amazon.

  Germanus’ smile faded for the first time. He ran a hand over his cropped beard. “Such genius and centuries of art annihilated in a day by the ignorant rabble, all of whom together could not create even the kerchief that binds Aphrodite’s hair. There is no justice in the world, Lord Chamberlain.”

  “There is a little justice in the wor
ld, Germanus.”

  The general’s hulking guards shifted their grips on their weapons, shuffled their feet, looking bored. They appeared to John the type of men who would not be fully engaged by anything except violence.

  Germanus smiled again. “I have fought my whole life to gain justice for my family. Here I am, descended from a royal line, and myself and my children are told to stand aside for whores and bastards bred from a bear keeper.”

  “But no longer.”

  “No. However, don’t think I’m only concerned with justice for myself…” He trailed off abruptly. “Lord Chamberlain, every single person you approach will single out an enemy as a potential suspect. Therefore I wish to stress Artabanes isn’t my enemy.”

  “General Artabanes?”

  “A fine commander. The opposite of his predecessor. Justinian should never have sent Areobindus to Libya. He was a senator, not a military man. And a coward to boot. I’m sure you know the story.”

  John did indeed. Areobindus had surrendered himself and his wife Praejecta to the rebels. Artabanes arrived, restored order, and rescued Praejecta, but not before Areobindus had been assassinated.

  “Are you telling me Artabanes acted against Theodora?”

  Germanus’ thick lips tightened. “As good as, Lord Chamberlain. A month ago he visited me at my house, supposedly to discuss the situation in Libya. But before long the conversation turned to the imperial couple. They were both worthless in his opinion. He claimed he wasn’t alone in saying so. On the other hand, I was as close a relative to the old emperor Justin as Justinian, and more fit to rule being a military man and not a self-styled theologian, a soft fellow who took orders from his wife. If only I had been older at the time of Justin’s death, and so on.”

  John pointed out such talk was tantamount to treason.

  “That’s what I told him. But he took no notice. He said he knew I was a fair-minded man. Everyone knew I was fair-minded. Otherwise some treacherous senators would have already begged me to put Justinian out of the way.”

  “He wanted to gauge your interest in deposing Justinian?”

  “What else? He told me Justinian didn’t even try to rule. He sat up all night without any guards, just decrepit old priests, studying the holy books. In effect he explained to me exactly when and where the emperor could be assassinated and how simple it would be.”

  John looked around at the bodyguards. They gave no evidence of listening but had doubtless taken interest in the entire conversation. How might they feel about serving an emperor rather than a general?

  “He hated Theodora even more,” Germanus continued. “He hated them both. Murdering her would be a blow against Justinian. It would weaken him.”

  “People with grievances like to talk about revenge, even when they know they can’t take it.”

  “In Libya, Artabanes personally stabbed a tyrant in the tyrant’s own banqueting hall. He’s a courageous man.”

  John questioned Germanus further but having delivered his prepared speech the general remained affable but effectively as silent as the bronzes. Christodorus might have ventured to guess what he was thinking.

  John did not and took his leave.

  Chapter Eighteen

  As John walked toward the Chalke Gate he formed the impression he was being followed.

  It was a sense an inhabitant of the palace soon developed.

  He turned and went through an archway leading to the square of the Augustaion in front of the Great Church.

  His pursuer had no intention of merely following. A towering, granite column of a man-the largest of Germanus’ guards-overtook him and spoke. “Lord Chamberlain.”

  John stopped. “There was something your employer forgot to tell me?”

  “That’s right. He is worried about your safety.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  Passersby streamed around the two men as if they were two rocks in a river.

  “A high official should not be walking around alone, Lord Chamberlain. You never know who might be lurking around the next corner. Especially when you start asking powerful people the wrong questions.”

  “Is that what Germanus said?”

  “An intelligent man like you can deduce the answer.” The guard turned and plowed his way back through the crowd.

  The man’s words puzzled John. He had been threatened too many times to be concerned about threats to himself. What he worried about was Cornelia and his daughter and grandchild.

  He followed the retreating guard out through the archway. He would have preferred to return home to see if there had been any word from Cornelia, but after talking to Germanus he knew there was one more stop to make.

  He had seen the sun rising over the palace gardens as he began the day’s investigations, and before he was done he would see it drop below the rooftops of the city toward which it was falling even now, stretching the shadows of buildings, statuary, pillars and pedestrians and stray dogs in the direction of the Sea of Marmara as if the shadows intended to drown themselves in the dark waters as night closed in.

  ***

  Germanus stamped into the atrium of his house, cursing effusively. The servant who had met John at the door earlier shrank away.

  “You never should have told him I was at the Zeuxippos baths,” Germanus thundered.

  The servant had simply offered the usual report on who had called at the house and the general had started shouting.

  “But what else was I to do?” The servant’s voice quavered. “He was acting under Justinian’s orders. He showed me the seal.”

  “Next time tell him you don’t know where I’ve gone. Or that I’m off hunting in the Cypress Forest. Send him up the Bosporos looking for me. Tell him I’ve set sail for Egypt!”

  “I tried to get rid of him as quickly as possible. I didn’t want him to run into-”

  “No, certainly not! And what about our other visitor?”

  “Gone to see the lawyer.”

  “Again? What good will that do? I hope the lawyer knows enough to keep his mouth shut. I don’t like all this running around. Too much risk of being seen.”

  The servant was visibly trembling and Germanus softened his tone. “You did well to keep the Lord Chamberlain out. No one is to get past the atrium, and if possible not even that far. Maybe you should say my cook has the plague.”

  The huge guard who had spoken to John loomed in the entranceway.

  “You had a word with him?” Germanus asked.

  “Yes. I would have preferred to show him some steel to make the point clearer.”

  “The Lord Chamberlain’s no fool. Steel isn’t necessary. Yet. Come with me.”

  The two men made their way down a long many-doored hallway decorated with wall paintings and through the storage areas at the back of the house to a walled courtyard in which laborers were unloading sacks and crates from the back of a cart. An archway in the high wall opened onto a narrow alley. Two sentries were posted by the archway.

  Germanus looked up and down the alley, which came to a dead end a short distance from the archway. “I want you to make sure that anyone coming in by the back way isn’t being followed,” he instructed the towering guard beside him. “Put someone out on the street to watch whoever approaches. Disguise him as a vendor or a beggar. And keep an eye out for people lurking around.”

  “You think the house is being watched?”

  “I hope not. I don’t like being visited by high officials carrying out imperial investigations.”

  “There’s nothing you’ve done that anyone could prove was illegal.”

  “Since when does the emperor have to prove anything? The less he knows the better.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Peter was awakened by the banging of a door.

  He turned his head to look at the window. Movement was difficult. His skull seemed to weigh as much as the dome of the Great Church. In the darkening sky above the dome he could make out a star.

  Had the master re
turned home?

  Peter thought about stars. Some said they were angels but there was nothing angelic about those cold, hard, sharp points of light. They were jewels on a rich man’s robe, caught in the church lights during a night vigil.

  The pain in his broken leg waxed and waned like the unseen moon. A throbbing pain, as deep and intense as pain could possibly be. It brought tears to his eyes.

  It wasn’t time for him to die. He must remain to see the master through this latest trial. He didn’t like to think about him going around the palace, questioning powerful people, any one of whom would not suffer for having him killed if it suited them. The master was a powerful man himself, but an outsider. Not to mention a Mithran. What would the Lord think about Peter having spent so many years serving a Mithran?

  “Please, Lord,” Peter muttered. “Keep the master safe. His beliefs may be wrong but you should know him by his works, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  A noise interrupted his thoughts. Or had it awakened him? What had he heard?

  “Hypatia?” He was startled at how weak his voice sounded.

  There was no answer.

  He had the impression Hypatia had opened the door a crack, peered in at him, and shut the door. It might have been his imagination. The girl was always underfoot. He ought to make it plain to Lady Anna that Hypatia was not to interfere in his kitchen. Her duty was to grow the herbs Peter needed. She was not a cook. It would not do for her to be in the way while he was standing watch on the pot boiling over the hot coals.

  No. That had been years ago. Both he and Hypatia had been Lady Anna’s slaves before her death freed them and they came to work for John.

  The potions Gaius had given him were making Peter light-headed.

  “How can I manage in such a state? What was the scoundrel thinking of? Does he imagine I can lie around like the idle aristocrats he treats?”

  He closed his eyes.

  He remembered a young servant he used to meet at the back of a garden at the house he worked in years ago. He could feel the soft flesh of her rounded arms and her warm breath.