Four for a Boy (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

“I hear that Senator Opimius has relieved you of your duties, John.” Justinian was sitting up in his bed. Theodora perched on its edge.

The stuffy sick room was so hot a sheen of sweat had formed on the backs of John’s hands as soon as he entered.

“That is so, Excellency,” John replied.

“You weren’t neglecting your duties on my account?”

“I was accused of placing Lady Anna in danger, something I would never do.”

“Who leveled this charge?”

“It was a misunderstanding.”

Theodora pushed a strand of hair away from Justinian’s forehead. The man so often spoken of as the future emperor looked as if his future might be too short to include an ascent to the throne. There was no animation in his puffy face and his hands lay motionless on the sheet, suggesting they were too heavy to lift. “Do you believe this was the real reason you were asked to leave the household?”

“I was given no other reason.”

“I see. You noticed nothing unusual at the senator’s house these last few days?”

John shook his head.

“What visitors did Opimius have?” Theodora put in.

“I happened to see Trenico and Senator Aurelius. I only spent a few hours there each day. I didn’t see everyone who visited.”

“And what of Hypatius’ murder?” asked Justinian. “That is why I summoned you here. Is there any progress to report?”

John described the investigations he and Felix had made.

“You have certainly been working diligently,” Justinian observed.

“But have learnt nothing,” Theodora pointed out. “The culprit might well have been the large Blue Felix and I pursued. The man’s father, as I reported, has just been killed.”

Justinian closed his eyes and exhaled raggedly. Theodora glared at John. “Our enemies seek to tie Justinian to these murdering Blues. You have discovered nothing to contradict their claims. Clearly, if the son is the murderer, he was paid by someone. Once he is apprehended he will tell us his employer’s name. Then there will be no way to sully Justinian by linking him to Hypatius’ death.”

John wondered how Theodora could be so certain, but said nothing.

Nevertheless, Theodora answered the unspoken question. “Why was his father murdered? It is my opinion that, just as you were misled by their similar size, so the assassin mistook the older man for his son. Whoever hired the son would wish to be certain he is not captured and forced to talk. Obviously he confused one for the other.”

Theodora wiped Justinian’s damp forehead with a corner of his coverlet. The sick man’s eyes remained shut. John thought he had lapsed into sleep until his lips moved and he spoke again in a voice barely above a whisper. “With every passing day these conspirators gain new allies. You must learn the truth before they strike out at me publicly with their lies.”

“Yes, Excellency.”

Did Justinian’s hand stir? Was John being dismissed?

“One last matter I must report,” John went on quickly. “Felix and I were attacked by men who appeared to be Blues, but, I believe, were in reality professional assassins. If so, it is proof that someone is using the faction to carry out or cover up their own misdeeds.”

Justinian made no reply. It appeared he really had fallen into sleep or unconsciousness.

Theodora indicated that the audience had ended. John bowed and began to back away toward the door.

“Wait, slave! You have forgotten to pay your respects. Justinian may be careless about these matters of etiquette, but I am not.”

For an instant John was not certain what she meant. Then he recalled his initial audience with the pair. As his face grew hot, he prostrated himself in a perfunctory manner, hardly touching the floor before he began to rise.

He felt the toe of Theodora’s slipper on his shoulder.

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” she murmured. The smell of her heavy perfume did not quite mask the more common smell of sweat. “Slaves who are required to speak to their superiors sometimes forget their proper place. That can be dangerous.”

The slipper left John’s shoulder, moved roughly along his cheek, and came to rest on the carpet directly in front of his face. It was as small as a child’s slipper, purple and decorated by tiny flowers formed of gold stitchery with amethyst centers.

“Why are you hesitating?” Theodora asked. “I should think the lips of a eunuch would rejoice to touch any part of a woman.”

***

John welcomed the clean, cold air of the garden outside the Hormisdas Palace. He tried to calm his rage by concentrating on the task facing him. He wished now that he were working for Justin or for that matter anyone other than the insolent actress who appeared destined to be empress. For it seemed to him he was working for her as much as for Justinian.

He forced his mind away from his recent humiliation, toward the knotty puzzle with which he was wrestling. Was Victor indeed the murderer, and if he was, had he been hired to carry out the job? He had fled with his father and so, John thought, it was likely he had died with his father, but his body had yet to be recovered.

John was still pondering as he arrived at his quarters.

There he spotted something lying on his pallet. His fists clenched as he remembered the incident of the crown.

Then he saw it was a scrap of neatly folded parchment. The well-formed, bold writing declaring him to be the recipient was recognizable at five paces as that of Lady Anna.

She had written the note in Persian, perhaps to protect the contents from curious eyes. Trenico, she stated, had been insinuating that it would be best for both her and her father if she acceded to his marriage requests. Furthermore, she deduced from a comment that her father had let drop, that Trenico had been filling the senator’s ears with slanders about John.

“If you need to see me,” she concluded, “go to the servants’ entrance and ask for the cook, whom I have instructed to bring me word should you appear.”

John turned the parchment over. Not only had Anna written the note in a foreign language but she had also used a discarded exercise. A further precaution? To disguise its real function as a message of warning?

He glanced over it. It was a scribbled list of verbs and in one corner she had written out some brief verses.

For a lady to send such a thing to a slave…it was unthinkable. He was afraid for her. What if it had fallen into the wrong hands? Worse, since she had had a word with the cook, by now every servant in Opimius’ house knew about the arrangement. And Opimius? Perhaps not. The master was often the last to know what went on in the household.

John shredded the note.

He was angry with Anna for being so foolish. That was nothing compared to his blinding fury toward Trenico. It was Trenico, after all, who had forced her to write the ill-advised note by his threats and lies.

John stormed from the building. It wasn’t long before he arrived at the Baths of Zeuxippos. Trenico seemed to spend half his time there, Anna had said. He would confront him immediately.

Confront?

What could he say?

He could not think clearly.

Perhaps he would simply kill the man, hold that sneering face under the water in the caldarium until his lying breath had stopped forever and could no longer poison the air. Soldiers died to win a field at the empire’s edge, some muddy, rock-strewn stretch of land an emperor wouldn’t consider fit for gracing with a latrine for his servants. Would it be so senseless to sacrifice his own life to save a lady from being forced to submit to a man like Trenico?

As John strode through the entrance to the baths he was aware that people, looking alarmed, ducked out of his path. The attendant cringed as he took John’s admission fee. John realized his face had settled into the rictus of the battlefield, the terrible snarl that so much resembled the grimaces on the frozen faces of the dead.

He stopped in the courtyard and tried to compose himself. From a nearby lecture hall a monotonous voice recited what sounded like a homily from John Chrysostum, he of the golden tongue. Unfortunately, this particular speaker had a tongue of lead.

John resumed walking. He passed by shops selling oils for the limbs, and then the baths’ library. Its attendant, John knew, fought an endless battle to prevent his scrolls and codices being ruined by bathers’ damp hands. He did not see many people. There seemed to be as many statues in the building’s hallways as patrons.

He had managed to bring his temper under control by the time he turned down a wide corridor lined with arched doorways from which issued clouds of steam. These were the private baths. Anyone who saw him would have thought he was merely a servant, here to assist his master.

John was no longer certain why he had come here. He continued walking, glancing through the archways toward circular baths in which bathers sat or stood, in steamy waist-high water, sluicing themselves, laughing, talking.

He stopped abruptly and moved closer to the nearest opening.

A shaft of light dropped through the roiling steam from a window in the dome, providing illumination. On the steps up to the bath, a few busts and the sculptured figure of a nymph sat on pedestals, partly obscuring the bathers. John recognized one.

Trenico.

There were six men in all, three of whom John did not know. Two others, however, were familiar to him. One was Senator Opimius. Joking with him was the merchant he and Felix had interviewed— Tryphon, who had only recently told his interrogators that he was unacquainted with Opimius.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“I wouldn’t be quick to draw conclusions,” said Felix. “Why should a rich man like Tryphon be truthful with the likes of us, anyway? I would be more surprised if there were two rich and powerful men in this city who never met at the baths.”

“You’re right,” John replied. “Yet it still makes me uneasy.”

At John’s suggestion they had returned to the Hospice of Samsun. Victor had not claimed his father’s body. John was not surprised. Now he and Felix followed Gaius, allowing him to clear a path through the teeming corridors.

“Those assassins the Gourd sent after us, John, they’re what should make you uneasy,” Felix said quietly as they trailed some distance behind Gaius.

“I agree, but I’m not so certain they were the Gourd’s men.”

“Isn’t it obvious? He’s tired of having us strapped to his back. We may just be in his way, but, then again, he might have designs on the throne. He might be formulating a plan to take over, at the appropriate time. He’s popular with many. He has a force of men in the city. He wouldn’t want either Justin or Justinian to know.“

“Consider this,” John countered. “Justinian learned that Opimius had dismissed me before I told him.”

“Is that surprising? But what are you saying? You think Justinian wants to do away with you because you’re of no real use anymore? Or perhaps because Opimius suspects you were a spy?”

“Was I a spy?”

Felix laughed bitterly. “Who can say for certain? We’re actors in someone else’s play. We’re reading our lines, but we haven’t yet seen the last page. Let’s hope it isn’t a tragedy.”

Gaius interrupted. “There he is.”

The doorkeeper they sought was spooning porridge into the toothless mouth of another patient, a being so ancient and withered it appeared as sexless as an infant.

“Demetrios is leaving this afternoon.” Gaius gestured for the doorkeeper to join them in the corridor. “He’s as tough as an old leather boot. He wanted to help out for a while before he left.”

“And happy to do so,” Demetrios said. “My own small contribution to the hospice. I wish I could do more.”

“So do I,” muttered Gaius, who hurried away, as overworked as ever. At least on this day, John noticed, he looked steady on his feet.

“Perhaps you can assist us also.” Felix looked sternly at Demetrios.

“I’ll try, sir, but I don’t think I have anything more to tell you even though I’ve thought about it a fair bit since we spoke.”

“If you could describe once more exactly what happened before Hypatius’ murder?”

The man obliged, relating again the scene he had witnessed in the Great Church, the screaming and confusion, how the Blues had rushed out, wounding him on their way. In the end, he added nothing useful to what he had said during their previous conversation.

They were turning to leave when Demetrios laid a skeletal hand on John’s arm.

“Sir, I have offered prayers that those murderers are brought to justice, but I begin to wonder if they will ever pay for their crime. After my stay here, ashamed as I am to admit it, I have begun to question whether there is justice in this life at all.”

John observed that while the thought might be shocking it was perfectly understandable. “Yet isn’t the justice we all seek more likely to be found in the next life rather than this one?”

“Spoken like a good Christian, sir. No, it isn’t for us to question the ways of the Lord and yet…Did the physician mention that poor cart driver? Isaakios? He helped to rescue a couple of courtiers, so it’s said. What men from the palace were doing out on the streets at dawn…something unmentionable I suppose. He was stabbed for his pains, so he was, and died only this morning.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” John glanced at Felix, who muttered something under his breath.

“And,” continued Demetrios, “I must tell you that the man’s last words were for his family. He was afraid his cart would not be given to them and they would starve in the streets. If you could—”

“I will ask Gaius to make certain that it is sent to them immediately, if it has not already gone,” John promised. It struck him that when the Lord was not quick enough to grant the wishes of His followers they were quick to turn their eyes to anyone from the palace. “You seem to have spent a lot of time talking to people during your stay here, Demetrios.”

“Not talking. Listening. It is a skill I have learned in my regular work. A doorkeeper’s job is not boring at all if he learns to listen well.”

The man stopped abruptly, then blurted out, “There’s evil abroad in this city. Pure evil. This Isaakios was a regular worshipper at the Great Church. A humble cart driver, but generous in his way. When Hypatius presented the church with his gift, it was Isaakios who hauled it from the sculptor’s studio to the church free of charge. As a charitable gesture, you understand, even though he was one who could ill afford to give his labor for nothing, what with a large family to support. The family he has left behind. You will see about his cart?”

John reassured Demetrios that he would do so, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

“Thank you, sirs. I was hoping that you would help. Those from the palace wield much more power than the common person. They say that even the slaves there eat from gold plates.”

John thanked the old man absently.

On the way out of the hospice he remained silent. At Felix’s suggestion they stopped at the first tavern they saw. When the two had settled themselves at a table set against the back wall, the owner ladled wine into their cups from one of the open vats set in the counter.

“What is it, John?” Felix asked. “What are you thinking?”

John’s gaze was directed toward the mosaic on the wall, a succession of triumphant gladiators and charioteers. His thoughts were elsewhere. “We have approached this investigation the wrong way.”

“What? You mean tramping all over the city interviewing beggars too frightened of us to talk? You don’t think that’s a useful approach? Or do you mean our appearing in the doorways of aristocrats too contemptuous of us to cooperate?”

John ignored the excubitor’s sarcasm. “The doorkeeper said that the cart driver who died had delivered that statue to the church. Doesn’t it seem strange to you?”

“He was a carter, John. That was his living. What’s strange about it?”

“I mean this. Hypatius commissioned the sculpture, Viator imported the marble to be used. Now we learn that the cart driver delivered the finished work to the church. All three are dead.”

“The driver was fatally injured in a street brawl, we saw that ourselves. Viator was likely robbed. Hypatius, it is true, was murdered for a reason we have not yet been able to discover.”

“Certainly it would appear they all died for different reasons, but perhaps the fact that they are all dead is more important than the apparent causes.”

“Why would anyone commit murder over a work of art anyway? As for myself, I prefer looking at some of those detailed Aphrodites one runs across in the palace gardens, but to kill someone over a chunk of stone, however it’s been shaped, it just doesn’t seem likely.”

“At times we see the connections before we can discern the meaning.”

“Or you do.” Felix rubbed at his stubbled jaw. “You overlook the obvious, John. I’ve been thinking this over myself. Remember that Viator and Hypatius were friends who had fallen out over financial matters. How do you know Viator’s son was not responsible for Hypatius’ death? Mark you, not necessarily with Viator’s knowledge. Or if it comes to it, what if Viator was responsible? You mistook father for son, even if briefly, remember?”

“True,” John admitted. “But then how to explain Viator’s death? Hypatius had no sons to avenge him, at least not so far as we know. No, I am convinced we have been going about this the wrong way. I’m not even sure exactly how I know.”

“We’ve just been wasting our time?”

“Not necessarily. We may know more than we think. We just haven’t realized the significance of what we’ve learned. Because we haven’t been looking at the matter from the proper perspective.”

Felix’s stool creaked as he shifted uncomfortably. “If the emperor suspected one of his bodyguards was taking suggestions from a slave.…I don’t find this new theory very convincing. But I’m tired enough barking down blind alleys and at the gates of mansions to try something different. For a day. I’m not going to explain to Justin that we abandoned a reasonable investigation because you had a vague feeling we were on the wrong track. But what next? We don’t have a list of people connected to this sculpture.”

“We know of at least one other person close to the work. The man who chiseled it. And remember, Theodora mentioned that Hypatius was only one of a number of patrons who paid for it. That didn’t seem to have any bearing on the murder before. No doubt Archdeacon Palamos would know the names of the others.”

***

Palamos was still at his temporary post in the Great Church. A boy, indistinguishable from the child they had watched lighting lamps during their previous visit with the archdeacon, ran to fetch the man.

Felix strolled around the base of the marble Christ, shaking his head. “No, this is not to my taste at all. When I first arrived in Constantinople, it made me uncomfortable, having the eyes of this man upon me everywhere. Hanging on every wall, looming over me as I came and went from the palace.”

Palamos emerged into the vestibule. A fond pat from his pudgy hand sent the boy who had found him back to work.

Felix watched the child race away. “You’ve got more urchins in here than there are on the street.”

“The church is a safer place for them. We try to employ as many as possible. It brings tears to my eyes to see all the beautiful little boys living off scraps, shivering in rags, freezing to death in corners.”

Felix stated their business.

Palamos’ pallid features tightened into a frown. “There were two other patrons who, unlike Hypatius, wished to remain anonymous. Please don’t misunderstand. I am not faulting Hypatius for proclaiming his generosity. There are those who take undue pride in humility. But you can understand my difficulty.”

Felix produced a handful of coins. “Perhaps there are boys here who need new shoes?”

Palamos accepted the donation without hesitation. “How gratifying to see a military man concerned with things other than killing! I suppose I can tell you, in the strictest confidence, that one of the other patrons was Fortunatus. Another great philanthropist. He recently gave all his wealth to the church and retired to the monastery next door.”

“And the second?” John inquired. “A pious widow named Dominica.” Palamos noticed the surprise on John’s face. “You’re acquainted with Dominica?”

“She is an acquaintance of an employer.” Palamos told them where Dominica lived. “If you’re still interested in why so many oppose Theodora, ask Dominica. She can certainly tell you tales. I’ve heard a few myself. Did you know that Theodora’s old actress friends, common whores the lot of them, are welcome at the Hormisdas at any hour? She arranges abortions for them. It’s something upon which she is an authority, having had considerable experience of them herself. If Justinian expects a successor out of that one, he will be sadly disappointed. She’s as worn out as a crone.”

Palamos stopped abruptly and glanced around. “I should not be talking about such things with small ears around. The Lord willing, our boys will avoid these filthy entanglements. That would be a blessing indeed.”

Felix gave a curt nod and thanked Palamos. Outside, he growled to John, “I think Palamos is much too fond of his boys. Where should we go now? There’s the monastery, practically in front of us. I suppose we should speak to this Fortunatus first.”

“If you don’t mind, let’s seek out Dominica. I find walking a useful aid in the contemplation of problems.”

Felix said nothing, but accompanied John across the Augustaion. He came to a halt suddenly, jerked his head around and scanned the square. John followed his gaze, but saw only the usual array of citizens hurrying to shops or churches or homes.

Felix resumed walking. “I keep feeling eyes on my back.”

“After being ambushed I’m not—”

“No. I’m not imagining things. Someone’s watching us, following us.”

As if to confirm his words, as the two men turned to enter the Mese, a young man in a bright red cloak, hardly suitable for street wear, came running toward them. Felix’s hand went to his sword and then dropped away when he saw the youngster’s heavily powdered and painted face. It was one of the pages who served as palace decorations, or in other capacities required by members of the court.

“They said you’d probably be lurking around here,” gasped the page, thoroughly out of breath from his burst of exertion.

“You were almost right,” John remarked to his companion. “Someone was looking for us.”

The page looked from John to Felix. “What a pair! A soldier and a eunuch! You, excubitor. The emperor wants to see you. Immediately. Follow me.”

“If Justin orders it, I shall attend,” replied Felix. “However, I can find my own way to the palace.” The black glare he directed at the page sent the youngster off at a trot.

“Trouble?” John wondered.

“We’ll see. I’d go back to the palace if I were you, John. I’m certain we were being followed.” “I don’t want to delay visiting these patrons,” John replied reluctantly.

“Be careful then. At least I now know you can handle yourself in a fight!”

John watched as Felix turned back toward the palace, and then resumed walking. Now he felt as if someone were watching him. He cursed Felix for putting the idea into his head.