Ten for Dying (John the Lord Chamberlain Book 10) Page 9

  “Captain!” Basilius appeared at his elbow. The priest looked ill, pale with red-rimmed eyes. “Have you brought good news?”

  Felix shook his head. “I’ve only just begun my investigation.”

  The priest gave a long sigh of despair. “By this time the thieves will have escaped far away. Already this morning I’ve been visited by the head of the urban watch and he thinks the same.”

  “Justinian is extremely anxious that the shroud be recovered, wherever it is.”

  “He would be, yes. The relic protects the city. Its theft is not only blasphemous, but involves a military matter, the defense of Constantinople.”

  Felix nodded politely. The Virgin’s shroud might repel an enemy–as many believed–so long as it was accompanied by a thousand soldiers armed with steel. But then, he was a Mithran. Christians obviously felt differently. The emperor himself was anxious to have the shroud returned and he was a practical man notwithstanding his theological ruminations. If Justinian considered the relic a useless piece of cloth he wouldn’t have ordered Felix to investigate.

  “I see you agree with me, captain.” Basilius gestured toward an emerald-studded reliquary. “We have many treasures, rich enough to tempt men to imperil their immortal souls. They would sell jewels wrenched from such beautiful works fashioned by the faithful, melt down the gold they are made from. Jewels can be replaced, but the holy shroud cannot. To think of it in evil hands!” Tears glistened on his cheeks.

  It made Felix uncomfortable to see the man weeping like a woman who finds one of her best robes ruined by careless servants. “Would anyone buy such a famous relic?” He snapped. “Would it have any value? Who could want it?”

  Basilius wiped his tears. “How would I know? I have nothing to do with affairs of the empire. Enemies of Constantinople might want to take it away.”

  “You really believe it protects the city as people say?”

  Basilius looked at Felix uncomprehendingly. “It is the shroud of the Virgin. How could it not protect us?”

  “What evidence is there for it? Do you suppose we would be knee-deep in Goths or Persians if the shroud hadn’t been here all these years?”

  “It is said that Emperor Anastasius carried it with him into victorious battle against the heretical rebels, many years ago.”

  “I wasn’t aware Anastasius was a fighter.”

  “With the protection of the Virgin it was not necessary.”

  What did the priest mean? That one could fight the enemy from the comfort of one’s bedroom by simply holding onto a bit of cloth? There was no point pursuing the matter. If enough people thought an object was valuable, it was. “Does someone think he has a claim to the relic?”

  “How could anyone? The church here has been in undisputed possession for almost a century. A pilgrim brought it back from the Holy Land.”

  Stole it more likely, Felix thought.

  “Could it really have been demons that took it? You heard what Mada and Peteiros said.”

  “Have they remembered anything more? Do they still insist they saw these things out of a nightmare?”

  “You sound skeptical? You don’t suspect them? They’ve always been faithful servants. Good Christians, both.”

  “Gold answers prayers the gods ignore.”

  Basilius looked shocked.

  “As to these supernatural robbers they talked about,” Felix continued, “it strikes me as too much of a marvel to be true. Then there’s the matter of the frogs and the scarab. Is the mausoleum doorkeeper here?”

  “Timothy? Yes. He hasn’t gone off duty yet.”

  Felix was surprised to find the ancient down on his knees, washing the mausoleum floor.

  “Don’t want any trace of them dirty frogs remaining, sir.” Timothy began to struggle to his feet, bracing himself against the sarcophagus.

  Felix gave him a hand. “You remember me? The captain of the excubitors?”

  Recognition came into the old man’s face. He dropped his scrubbing rag. Felix saw he was trembling. “Are you going to arrest me? How did you find out?”

  Had the fellow been drinking or was he mad? “Find out what? About the demons?”

  “You do know then! I was afraid, sir. Have mercy on an old man. I didn’t want to tell the truth when Basilius asked me if I had seen anything. It’s true, I only pretended I’d seen the demons the other two were talking about. I need this job to get by.”

  “Go on.”

  “To tell the truth I was asleep until the uproar in the church woke me. Then I saw an ape leaving the grounds.”

  “An ape?”

  “It looked like the ape that danced for its master at the shows at the Hippodrome. Like a man, yet not like a man. But I only got a glimpse.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t dream this?”

  “No, sir. I may doze, but I always keep one eye open.”

  Felix cursed silently. As if demons and frogs and scarabs weren’t bad enough, along comes an ape. “Did the ape jump out from the mouth of a wine jug by chance?”

  “Not so, sir. Not so!”

  Felix’s malignant glare caused Timothy to cower backwards, as if he wanted to climb into Theodora’s sarcophagus with her. “I suppose I am under arrest now?”

  “Not yet. But I may wish to speak to you again in case you remember anything else you’ve lied about.”

  Felix stalked out deep in thought. There must be some connection between whatever had happened in the mausoleum and the theft which had taken place at the same time. If only he could discover what it was, the mystery would be solved. Wasn’t that how John would look at it?

  As Felix rode away from the Church of the Holy Apostles the sky finally began to brighten. Light glinted off puddles and wet marble and further away in the cityscape stretched out below the hill upon which the church stood, the sun illuminated the gilded domes of other churches and mansions.

  Was the shroud hidden in one of those mansions? Was a wealthy merchant gloating over his newly found power? With a relic potent enough to protect an entire city, what would any man need to fear?

  He considered visiting the Jingler again. After all, Julian had acquired a new amulet in the form of the roundel on his garment. How much greater protection the missing relic would offer! But was it likely a man petrified of devils would even consider raising them so they could steal it for him?

  Your humors are deranged, Felix chided himself. Demons are for terrifying children. If someone wants to steal anything they don’t need assistance from demons.

  The Jingler might very well have been ordered by his superior to steal the shroud. If indeed he had a superior as he claimed. Whoever was involved with the theft of the relic would be in extreme danger, including an excubitor captain who had unwittingly agreed to assist in its delivery to its buyer.

  And what was Felix supposed to say if the Jingler’s superior demanded to know whether the package had been passed along by excubitors as usual?

  “No. I found the courier dead and disposed of the body.”

  The next question would be: What had Felix done with the relic after killing the courier?

  Chapter Nineteen

  “You can’t be serious, Felix! A collection of thugs…smugglers…threatening the captain of the excubitors?” Anastasia used her knife to spear the last olive on her plate and raised it to her lips. “I should hope you’d have them arrested on the spot.”

  “It’s more complicated than that. I’ve already explained the situation.” Felix didn’t like the irritation he heard in his voice. He had never spoken harshly to Anastasia. But Mithra! Was the woman really so slow to grasp the implications or just pretending? “Quite apart from my debts and all the problems those entail, there’s also the small matter that Justinian has ordered me to investigate a theft in which I am involved.”

  “Not knowingly.�
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  “Convince the emperor of that.”

  “The only link to you is the dead courier, but what could there possibly be about a naked corpse abandoned in the street that would connect it with you?”

  “I can’t think of anything, true, but I can’t keep myself from wondering if there’s something I’ve overlooked.”

  Anastasia’s face clouded. “Wait! What about your donkey and cart?”

  “It was just a work cart. I didn’t have my name emblazoned on the side. It was probably gone by the time the sun rose anyway, scavenged for parts and firewood.”

  “And the poor donkey?”

  “Would I bother marking a donkey as if it were the imperial plate? If he belonged to Theodora he probably would have worn jeweled earrings.”

  Anastasia set her fork down noisily. “Don’t be stupid. Theodora wouldn’t have done something that foolish, despite the tall tales people tell about her.”

  “Ah, well, you would know better than me. You’re from the palace.”

  “And what if the donkey comes back?”

  Felix started to bark out his reply but caught himself, closed his eyes for a moment, and only then spoke. “Donkeys are not trained to return home. Although it would be a fine thing, wouldn’t it, to find him braying at the gate like an avenging Fury?”

  “You’ve been a swine ever since you got back,” Anastasia pouted.

  “I can’t imagine why! I keep waiting for something to happen, or not happen.”

  “That makes no sense, Felix!”

  “It does. The best thing that can happen is nothing at all. But nothing happening isn’t very reassuring. It doesn’t put an end to worrying, doesn’t insure something might not happen.”

  Nikomachos appeared in the dining room and began to clear the remains of the midday meal, slowly, methodically, and clumsily.

  “Get on with it, will you?” Felix snapped.

  Anastasia clucked, scolding. “If you insist on employing one-armed servants what do you expect?”

  “Normally he has only one person to wait on!”

  Nikomachos stacked the empty plates, his expression bored, the frozen face on a coin.

  “It’s all very exciting, isn’t it?” Anastasia said. “Your investigation, I mean.”

  “You seem remarkably unconcerned, but then it isn’t your neck in the noose, is it?”

  “Oh, you are such a grumpy bear today. I’m concerned, but it’s an adventure, can’t you see that?”

  An adventure compared to the pampered life at court she was used to living, Felix thought. An adventure compared to searching for an earring her mistress had lost. He managed to keep his tongue quiet. Why should Anastasia be concerned, anyway? She did not know Felix well, despite their intimacy, and she wasn’t involved in the robbery.

  “Look how easily you relieved us of our unwelcome visitor,” Anastasia pointed out.

  “You call it easy, but it wasn’t you roaming the streets in the rain.”

  A silver knife clattered against a plate as Nikomachos continued collecting the remains of their meal. Was he eavesdropping? He was always eavesdropping, wasn’t he? “Finish your task,” Felix ordered.

  The servant managed to look hurt and contemptuous at the same time. With one hand, he lifted the perfectly arranged pile of platters, cutlery balanced on the top plate, and strode off.

  Turning his glare away from Nikomachos’ ramrod straight back, Felix was startled to see Anastasia dabbing away tears.

  “Did I upset you?” he asked. “I’m sorry I snapped. I shouldn’t be worrying you with my problems. I’ll think of a solution.”

  Anastasia snuffled mournfully. “I was just thinking about the poor donkey. Whatever will happen to him, left out on the streets all alone with nothing to eat?”

  A short time and many barbed words later Felix found himself stalking along the Mese in a foul humor, wondering why he had left his own house. It was his house, wasn’t it? Not Anastasia’s.

  He had listened to all he could bear about his lack of common human feelings for donkeys. Probably he should not have said he didn’t give a fig if starving beggars were roasting the animal on a spit, although it was true. However, it was she who had said a beast like him should have some compassion for its own flesh and blood.

  How had she survived service at court with such a poisonous tongue?

  She made him furious and all the more because he was afraid she might not cool down by bedtime.

  By the time his own fury had begun to subside, Felix realized he was halfway to the Church of the Holy Apostles. It occurred to him he should ask around in the vicinity of the church, in case anyone had noticed anything the night of the robbery.

  How exactly should he go about it?

  He couldn’t very well ask did you happen to see two demons the other night? Or an ape? Perhaps a large number of frogs?

  Obviously he would need to be circumspect.

  He marched along the crowded colonnade without pause, past shops full of lamps, olive oil, fabrics. Puddles lingered in the street. A fierce afternoon sun turned the humid air into a noxious soup smelling of the dung of cart animals, exotic spices and fragrances, overripe fruit, and the sour reek of sweating humanity.

  The long walk and heat had made him thirsty. He found himself in front of a tavern. Perhaps a drink before he got started?

  Chapter Twenty

  Felix sat in the corner of a reeking tavern somewhere near the Aqueduct of Valens as best he could recall. Or had that been the last place he’d been in, or the one before? He watched patrons staggering and reeling past his table, up and down the stairs to the lavatory. He lifted his wine cup. Hesitated, stricken with guilt.

  Before he met Anastasia he had been drinking too much. Half the imperial court knew about it. Half the court always knew everyone’s personal business. He had promised her he would give up Bacchus for her, as she put it. He was uncomfortably aware he had broken the promise.

  “Well,” he muttered, “you deserve it. You drove me to it.” He took a long gulp of wine, punishing her for being unreasonable. It was her fault.

  Besides, taverns were the only places where he might find witnesses willing to talk. Or so he had surmised after futilely questioning close-mouthed shopkeepers and wary beggars. Late-drinking tavern patrons would also have been the most likely to witness suspicious happenings in the night.

  He emptied his cup and wiped his beard. “There. Are you happy now? See what you’ve done to me!”

  An old man at a nearby table was eying him curiously. Felix took it as an invitation. He got up, his sword clanking against the side of the table, and clumped over to where the man was seated.

  “Imperial business,” Felix said. “There have been reports of strange happenings. Demons and apes.” He went on to elaborate, having long since abandoned his efforts to remain circumspect.

  The fellow had studied the bottom of his empty cup and after Felix paid to have it refilled he sipped reflectively and noisily. “Apes and demons you say? Now that you mention it I did see a pair of demons meeting that description the other night, being chased by an ape. Unless it was a hairy demon with a tail.”

  Felix eyed the man hopefully.

  “Yes,” he continued, “I remember it now. Seeing Theodora’s shade flapping round and round the dome of the Great Church afterward put them demons and apes right out of my head.”

  ***

  “Should have grilled the old devil like Saint Lawrence,” Felix muttered as he reeled away from the tavern, recalling what palace wits liked to say about a courtier, another Lawrence, notorious for his taciturnity. Then again in Constantinople it was wise to cultivate not only silence but also selective blindness, especially when a man from the palace came calling, asking awkward questions.

  It was as well he was the questioner and not the questi
oned. He wasn’t certain how he might stand up to interrogation by certain persons employed by Justinian to obtain answers with the aid of extremely unpleasant instruments. Well, at present he could barely stand up, torturers or not, he admitted to himself as he veered into a pillar of the colonnade. Still, he truly hoped he never made the acquaintance of those inquisitive men.

  He had sent plenty of malefactors to be introduced to them. How could he have avoided it? That’s the way things were done.

  He navigated a courtyard and passed through an archway into a street. A sign on the archway identified the establishment he had just visited as the Inn of the Centaurs, not merely a tavern. Had he come in this way?

  In the back of his mind he understood it was unwise to be drinking, given his uneasiness and sense of approaching disaster. When he drank he was carried aloft on the wings of the grape, as John’s friend Anatolius had written in one of his execrable poems. Once up there Felix’s problems always looked tiny and insignificant. Unfortunately the grape inevitably let go and he plummeted into the stygian pit of infinite despair.

  Another snippet from one of Anatolius’ poems?

  Felix guessed he was about ready for the fall. Why else would he be worrying about the imperial torturers?

  Anastasia would torture him if he returned in this state. Would she still be at his house? Did he dare return? Shadows were beginning to creep in from the west as night drew on.

  Somehow or other he had made his way to the Hippodrome.

  He ducked into one of the alcoves decorating the wall of the race course and relieved himself noisily behind an obscure philosopher.

  Unfortunately the act reminded him of the body he had left behind another statue. Surely he couldn’t be connected with it? But how long until he was able to be absolutely certain? Would he ever be assured he was safe?

  He emerged, rearranging his garment. The nearby dome of the Great Church glowed in gathering darkness. Theodora’s shade flying around indeed!