Eight for Eternity (14 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Poisoned!” Rusticus gave a grunt of pain as he straightened up slowly from the bed to which Haik had been moved. The elderly physician’s tunic bore the marks of a day’s calls on patients. He pushed a spray of white hair away from his watery eyes and turned to face John.

“Are you certain?” John demanded.

Felix, stationed in the doorway, shook his head vehemently. “Impossible. No one’s been in the house who doesn’t belong here.”

“There’s no doubt about it,” Rusticus insisted in grave tones. “Considering the convulsions you described and the dilated eyes, it was belladonna. Ladies of the court use it to make their eyes look larger. Some call it Atropos’ plant. Enough taken and she cuts the thread of a man’s life. Not that it matters what it was at this point. If only I’d arrived earlier.”

“You might have saved him?”

“I can’t see how. But I would have been able to identify the poison more positively. As it is I have to go on what you tell me. I should have liked to be sure. Poisonings are most interesting. Tending to the court as I do, I could tell you about more than one poisoning. Oh, yes. Not as many as you’d think. Especially lately. Back in Emperor Zeno’s day things were handled more subtly. Now it’s just a knife in the back. And often enough, not in the back. All brute force and no guile.”

Felix gave an audible grunt. “Easier to guard against.”

John was almost relieved to hear that Haik could not have been saved. Although he had acted quickly it felt like a long time before the physician arrived. As soon as John shouted for a servant the whole household came on the run, along with Felix and a couple of his excubitors.

It was Hypatius who suggested sending for Rusticus. The physician had long treated the family. Once Haik was placed on the bed John ordered everyone but Felix out of the room.

He knelt by the bed speaking to Haik, listening to his breathing become shallower. The man did speak again before giving a few stentorian gasps and lapsing into utter stillness.

John looked down at Haik. The man’s great beak of a nose jutted up like a small peak from the dead face. He bent over and pulled the sheet over the corpse. “You can treat a knife wound more easily than a poisoning?”

“That depends on the kind of poison and which rib you put the knife between and at what angle. Now if—”

“Who would use belladonna?”

“An aristocrat, I’d say. It’s a very refined poison. Or else a gutter bred scoundrel who wanted to make it look like an aristocrat’s work. On the other hand, it’s easily derived from nightshade, so it might be used by someone from the countryside, or by a city dweller who purchased it at a shop, or from—”

“I see. Just about anyone might have decided to use belladonna.”

“Anyone who wanted to kill someone.” Rusticus wiped at his watering eyes. “These days I’m seeing more of the dead than the living. If it’s not the result of beatings and stab wounds from the riots, it’s certifying condemned men are definitely dead after their executions. Some of the deaths I’ve seen, no one would want to see. Oh, I could tell you things you wouldn’t want to hear.”

“I’m glad you can restrain yourself.”

Rusticus shuffled over to the room’s table, picked up the jug there, saw it was empty. He made a noise of disgust. “If the wine was poisoned there’s none left to tell the tale. Was there any food left lying about?”

“No. Not even an empty plate,” said Felix. “John and I searched the room while we waited for you.”

“That’s too bad. Years ago a senator was found dead in his garden. There was half a sausage left on a plate on the bench beside his body. I mixed it with chicken liver and fed it to a cat. When the beast promptly died we knew there was no doubt that the senator had been poisoned.”

“Did that enable you to identify the poison?” John wondered.

“Hardly, but the beast’s reaction was fascinating. One would never guess that muscles could spasm to that extent. By the time I see poisoning victims, they’re usually dead or nearly so.”

“What a shame,” Felix remarked.

“Yes, confirming that a man’s dead isn’t physician’s work. Not usually. Now, just the other day, there were those two faction members who survived hanging. You wouldn’t think a physician would be needed to certify that a man who’s been hung is dead, would you? But when you’ve lived as long as me you see a lot of strange things.”

“Are you referring to the Blue and the Green who were rescued and taken to Saint Laurentius?”

“That’s right. Now there was something I had never seen before although I have a large charioteering clientele who are always injuring themselves, keeping me busy setting dislocated shoulders and limbs broken in collisions or when the men are dragged by their horses halfway round the track before they can cut the reins, spectators crushed in the stands, that sort of injury.”

“You mean the condemned men were charioteers?”

“One of them was a team patron. And the strangest aspect of the affair is that I knew him.”

“Which one?” John asked quickly.

“The Green. Fellow named Hippolytus. He consulted me about a little problem he had with his waterworks. He had a lot bigger problem with the other end once the hangman got hold of him! I’m surprised Pompeius didn’t tell you all about it. I went straight from the execution to his house. Pompeius is a regular patient mostly because he keeps half the wine merchants in the city solvent single-handed. He had over-indulged the night before and there I was, trying to tell him about the executions, and all he could do was groan and order his servants to bring him more wine. Why, the tale I was telling would have gathered me invitations to dine for weeks!”

John thought again of how Porphyrius had denied knowing the identities of either of the men who had survived their hangings. If even Rusticus knew—especially if the loose lipped physician knew—what were the chances Porphyrius didn’t? “Did you know Hippolytus well?” John asked.

“Not at all. I only saw him once, recently, which is why I remembered. I think one of the charioteers I treat sent him to me. He seemed well acquainted with racing. We didn’t talk for long. I gave him a remedy and sent him away. I had no remedy for what ailed him the next time I saw him. There’s no cure for the condemnation of the emperor.”

“Perhaps the botched hanging was intended as a cure,” put in Felix.

“It’s true he was not properly hung. But things were getting chaotic. The spectators were pressing in and making threats. Even the guards were frightened. The hangman was in a panic so far as I could tell. He probably wasn’t thinking clearly and didn’t adjust the ropes properly. There’s no excuse for that. It could have resulted in a very cruel death.”

It wasn’t surprising that Kosmas had not mentioned making such an error, John thought. If, indeed, he had been responsible. The Urban Prefect Eudaemon hadn’t mentioned any unruliness amongst the spectators either. It was possible his guards had tried to protect themselves by not reporting their failure to keep the crowd in check. Or Eudaemon had said nothing in order to protect himself. His men had already failed to protect the two at Saint Laurentius. It would have been understandable if he had not wanted to admit to yet another fiasco.

John turned his thoughts back to Haik. “But as for my friend, is there anything else you can tell me, that might be helpful in finding out who did this?”

The physician glanced at the covered form on the bed. “I fear not. And nothing to be done for him. Considering the horses are out of the barn, and jumped the fences, and vanished into the woods, and died of old age, there’s no point in locking the stable door, is there? Whoever is responsible is long gone.”

“My guards were stationed at every door,” Felix said, his voice rising. “I was at the front entrance myself. No one could have got by us.”

“Guards can fall sleep, or neglect their duties,” John said.

“I picked these men myself, John. I know them. I trust them. Can you say the same of all the servants living in this house?”

“You have a point, my friend. But I see no reason why any of my servants would want to kill a complete stranger.”

“Maybe he made unwanted advances to one of the women. Who knows. I only know that your house has been well guarded.”

Felix was speaking too loudly. John thought he probably realized it could as easily been one of his aristocratic charges who was killed. And, besides, if someone could get into the house to murder Haik, he could return.

It was possible one of Hypatius’ family had been the real target. It was too obvious to need saying.

Chapter Twenty-Four

How are we going to endure staying here, knowing a man’s been murdered down the hall?” Pompeius selected an olive from the plate on the dining room table and popped it into his mouth. The corpulent man was as sober as John had seen him. Possibly the shock of Haik’s death had temporarily cleared his mind.

Hypatius sat across the table, warily eyeing the assortment of snacks but not sampling any. “You’re a fool to eat any of that, brother. How do you know it isn’t poisoned?”

Pompeius spat an olive pit onto the floor. “I’ll find out soon enough. If it’s poisoned my troubles will finally be over.”

“Someone must be after us.” Hypatius’ voice quavered with alarm. “Why would anyone creep into this house to murder a business traveler from Syria? We need more guards. Different guards. I don’t trust that big, bearded German.”

“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.”