Four for a Boy (11 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Hypatius’ palatial residence sat at the top of a wide thoroughfare. Its neighbors were a jumble of imposing edifices that appeared to John to be nailed to the steep hillside by the crosses protruding from their roofs. Perhaps, however, that was merely a fancy brought on by the long climb up a seemingly perpendicular street.

“He may have been a great philanthropist, but he certainly never took a vow of poverty.” Felix was breathing hard. As they drew nearer they saw that the row of shops the mansion appeared to sit behind were in fact part of the building itself. “I call that good strategy. Hypatius didn’t have to send his servants very far to buy more glassware or a new lamp. On top of such a wonderful convenience, think of the income from the sort of rents he must have charged.”

Despite the crisp air, several second-floor windows stood open. Joyful singing floated down into the street.

“A strange sound to be coming from a house of bereavement,” John remarked as he applied the brass door knocker.

A servant with a face the color of a walnut cracked the door open and peered out suspiciously. The cloying scent of heavily perfumed air swept out over them.

“Your business, good sirs?”

“We are here on orders of the City Prefect.”

The man ushered them from the entrance hall into an atrium whose watery light was augmented by a number of blazing torches set in brackets garlanded with ivy. Between these and the perfumed air, the house had the aura of being about to host a celebration rather than being in mourning for a recently deceased master.

The servant led them up a stairway, at the top of which a mosaic cross was set in the wall. Smaller examples decorated the tiles of the second floor corridor.

“There is much excitement today, sirs, as you hear. The master’s will is to be read this afternoon.” A wide smile revealed the servant’s fiery red gums and scanty teeth. Now John understood the reason for the joyful singing. The man’s anticipation of manumission was obvious.

The decorative crosses ended at the plain whitewashed room at the end of the corridor. It was as if Hypatius had not wished to be distracted by religion while engaged in business affairs.

A man with close-cropped hair stood at a cluttered desk, directing several servants who were crating furniture as he sorted business papers. There were deep creases in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. He looked troubled in contrast to the servants around him.

“I am Konstantinos, estate manager for Hypatius. If I may assist…?” His gaze darted nervously back and forth between Felix and John.

The men packing vases and plates into straw-lined crates set under the open window stole curious sidelong looks at the two strangers.

“Perhaps we should step into the corridor?” Konstantinos suggested.

As soon as they had done so, the estate manager scanned their introductory letter from the City Prefect, whose lead seal hung from it by a thin cord.

“I see that this instructs all who see it to give every cooperation to the bearers. You’re not from the quaestor’s office, are you? Is there a problem with the will? It was properly drawn up by a man of law and appropriately witnessed.”

“I’m certain that it was. We have no interest in wills,” Felix reassured him.

“I see.” The man’s relief was so obvious that John found himself wondering why.

Laughter sounded in the room they had just left. “Please forgive the impropriety,” Konstantinos said quickly. “They anticipate their freedom. Unfortunately, by sunset they will be shedding tears. I’ve only just learned that they’re not to be manumitted. They’ve all been left to one of the master’s business associates.”

Felix said he was surprised to hear it.

“The master did not succeed in business by being too kind hearted. For my part, I believe my years of service will ensure I will be allowed to keep my post. Or so I hope. I am of course a free man.”

“Given how much we’ve heard about the good works and charitable character of your late master…”

“He certainly deserves praise on both counts! But if he wasn’t a shrewd business man first there would have been no money for the good works he did. You don’t give away assets, and that includes slaves, unless for a good price or to settle a debt.”

Felix grunted noncommittally.

“Yes, the master was indeed a shrewd man,” Konstantinos repeated. “Most of his wealth was in land holdings, which rarely fail to appreciate in value.”

“Had Hypatius acquired much land recently?” John put in.

“Yes. I suppose there’s no harm in telling you since it’s fairly common knowledge. Of late there have been many cases of land owners who were very careless in making arrangements for the disposition of their estates. Thus there were bargains to be had. My master took advantage of a number of them and reaped the benefits. All perfectly legal.”

“It’s often to the advantage of people other than the heir if such mistakes are found,” John noted, ignoring Felix’s frown. “Sometimes those with an interest don’t have to look far to find the sort of mistakes that invalidate wills. Not enough witnesses, improperly notarized, that sort of thing.”

“Exactly so, and it makes one worry about such mistakes, sir. Hence my initial apprehension when you arrived. The fact is that invalid wills generally allow land to revert to the empire. And to be honest, I am somewhat worried…well…”

“You don’t have to fear saying it,” John assured him. “Were it to happen to your master’s estates, you are also naturally worried that they would eventually find their way into the hands of highly placed parties at court?”

“There you have it.”

“And let us suppose that if someone high at court indeed gained ownership of Hypatius’ estates, you are naturally worried that their managers would be immediately replaced.”

The furrows in Konstantinos’ forehead deepened even further. “They are always the first to go. Beyond that, many are anxious about how much worse the situation could be once Justinian becomes emperor.”

“Justin is not the man he was,” Felix said, “but it will still be some time before Justinian rules. Justin was an excubitor, a military man. As strong as a bull in his youth. Then too sometimes old men surprise us by their tenacity in clinging to life.”

“That’s exactly what the master said to me only last week! He didn’t seem concerned at what might happen once Justin died. Now he doesn’t have to worry about it at all since he is dead while Justin is still alive.”

Felix asked him if he had any notion why Hypatius had been so confident in his optimism.

“I know exactly why it was. He always confided in me more than many men of wealth and power do in their servants. He told me that he relied upon Senator Opimius.”

“Relied upon him? What did he mean by that?” John asked.

Konstantinos started as if struck. He had obviously suddenly realized the implications of what he had been saying to these two strangers.

“My master did not reveal details,” he began, panic welling in his eyes. “Senators have great influence. And isn’t Senator Opimius a close friend of Senator Aurelius, one of Justinian’s greatest champions? I have personally ushered those worthy senators together into the very office we just left. Their friendship vouches for the integrity of my master’s affairs and because of that, I suppose, he felt there was no need to fear any difficulties arising.”

Felix frowned. “I suppose that’s true. What sort of interests did Hypatius have aside from land?”

“My work concerns only the estates.”

“What about his charitable work, his donations?” asked John. “Do you know anything about this sculpture, for example?”

Konstantinos shook his head. “No. It’s a great irony, isn’t it? If he had not been such a pious and generous man, he wouldn’t have been visiting the church to see his gift. He would still be alive today.”

“And his family?” Felix asked.

“He had none. There was often talk in the kitchen of a possible marriage to this high-born lady or that, but it never came to anything.”

“When possible candidates were mentioned I daresay one was Senator Opimius’ daughter?” John suggested.

“Yes. How did you guess? But she would be a natural candidate because as I mentioned Senator Opimius was a friend of the master’s and his daughter is unmarried.”

The servant who had admitted John and Felix reappeared in the company of a wizened man whom he announced as the master’s man of law.

The sight of the new arrival appeared to send Konstantinos into a new panic. “If you will excuse me, sirs,” he stammered, “it is time for the reading of the will. If you have no more questions…? Very well, show these visitors out.”

Hardly had the estate manager and the man of law entered Hypatius’ office when the servant turned angrily toward Felix and John.

“So, my deceitful pair, you may have convinced Konstantinos but you haven’t misled me!”

Felix stared at him. “And what do you mean by that?” His tone was menacing.

“You’re no more from the palace than I am!” the servant jeered.

He turned to John and prodded his chest with a grubby forefinger. “You’re thieves! After a death, all sorts of strangers must go in and out of a household. Why not take advantage? One of you distracts the steward while the other slips the silver under his cloak.”

The servant gave an onion-scented sneer and went on. “You must think yourselves clever, with the forged letter and that military disguise. Unfortunately I knew I had seen you somewhere before. Just now I remembered where. I’ve escorted the master to Opimius’ house. You’re the eunuch that’s teaching the homely daughter some foreign language or other. A miserable slave!”

“As are you!” John snapped back.

“But not for much longer! And I can assure you that tonight I shall be celebrating my new freedom in a place you’ll never be. Between the legs of a whore!”

John took a quick step forward.

Felix’s hand clamped painfully down on his arm. “No! We still have a job to do. Don’t pay attention to his insults.”

The servant opened the house door and saw them out with an ostentatious bow.

John and Felix started back down the steep street. “Thank you,” John finally said. “I almost allowed my personal feelings to interfere with our investigation. That would have been unforgivable.”

His gaze met Felix’s. The excubitor looked away.

Chapter Fifteen

“What do you make of it, uncle?” Justinian laboriously turned his head toward Justin. Slumped in a wooden chair at Justinian’s bedside, the emperor was propped up on each side by his attendants. Quaestor Proclus stood nearby.

“Make of it? I make nothing of it! It was just a dream!” The emperor spat on the floor to emphasize his opinion.

“But it was so vivid! I was walking through the city, alone and unattended, a strange thing in itself. Then I came to Constantine’s column. It was as real as this very room!”

“If you were me, nephew,” Justin broke in impatiently, “you could tell easily the difference between dreams and reality. When I dream I can’t feel this damned gnawing agony in my leg.”

“Well, this dream was so real I could actually smell the sea,” Justinian pressed on.

“That was just the stink in here. You ought to order the window opened, and get rid of most of these lamps. At least have your servants trim the wicks more often so they don’t smoke so much.”

It was true that a marshy odor, heavy with decay, suffused the dim room. Only the merest trace of the temporarily banished Theodora’s musky perfume lingered.

Justinian ignored his uncle’s remark. “I could hear the sound of something dripping,” he continued. “Then I noticed streams of a viscous green substance running down the column. So I turned my gaze upward and, as I said before, the statue of Constantine had vanished. Squatting there instead, gazing out over the rooftops, was a monstrous toad, oozing poison.”

“If you must make such a fuss about it, what do you make of this ridiculous dream yourself? That’s the important thing.”

“But isn’t it clear? Doesn’t the City Prefect Theodotus resemble a toad?”

“No. His head looks like a gourd, just as everyone says. They also say he’s about as intelligent as a gourd. I think they’re wrong as far as that goes. Even so, how can a gourd possibly look like a toad?”

Throughout the exchange, the emperor’s attendants remained as silent, expressionless and still as a pair of ugly caryatids. Proclus was a discreet presence behind the emperor’s hunched shoulders.

Justinian coughed. A servant materialized from the shadows to wipe away sweat from his forehead and then vanished again.

“How can you not see its meaning?” Justinian said. “The Gourd is poisoning me. And why? Because he plans to set himself above the city, or in other words to declare himself emperor.”

“But I am the emperor, not you!” Justin snapped. “So why isn’t he poisoning me? Am I dead? Perhaps that’s what I smell. I’m putrefying. Is that it, Proclus? Is your emperor dead and rotting?”

“No, Caesar,” came the murmured reply.

“Proclus is the type of man you need to put your faith in, nephew. Even if I was indeed dead and rotting, my quaestor here would have me hauled around the palace until I was a mere pile of bones, if such had been my orders.”

The emperor reached out and clamped a big, veined hand on Justinian’s forearm. “Does that feel like the hand of a phantom? That actress of yours put this ludicrous idea into your head, didn’t she? Perhaps it is the actress who is poisoning you. Have you thought of that? According to Euphemia…”

“We have already discussed Euphemia’s opinions.” Justinian pulled his arm away from the older man’s surprisingly strong grip.

“My dear Euphemia’s fond of you, Justinian. She just doesn’t consider the actress a proper match.”

“But what about this dream? I’m rather surprised you dismiss it so lightly, uncle. Remember thirty or so years ago when you were fighting the Isaurians and got thrown in prison by your commander—”

“Yes, John the Hunchback. I forget now what his reason was supposed to be.”

“Whatever the reason, you were to be executed, but then the Hunchback dreamed three nights running of an angel that ordered your release. When he spared your life because of those dreams, did you then dismiss them as nonsense?”

“They weren’t dreams, you fool! An angel appeared to the Hunchback in his sleep. Do you think angels just stroll up and knock on your door in broad daylight? How could the Gourd be poisoning you, anyway? Do you have him working in the kitchen boiling your eggs? Euphemia says—”

“Caesar,” Proclus put in abruptly, “if I may offer an opinion, the Gourd has been doing a remarkable job in rectifying a situation that has gone unattended far too long. His pretense of being a magician is shrewd. Since no one can be everywhere at once, observing every street and alleyway, the next best thing is to appear to be doing just that. Now potential criminals imagine that they are being scrutinized by magickal means, so they watch themselves.”

Apparently Proclus made a subtle gesture or uttered a prearranged word, for the emperor and his attendants prepared to leave. Observed from a distance, Justin might have appeared to merely stand, so unobtrusively did his assistants grasp his arms and lift him.

“I agree it is time to go, excellency. Justinian must get his rest,” Proclus said tactfully before turning his attention to Justinian. “Might I suggest that this dream will not seem so portentous when your illness has run its course? No one opposes the Prefect’s methods except those who would prefer to live in terror while the Blues run wild. I can assure you no man of good will has anything to fear.”

***

The emperor and his small entourage had hardly left the room before Theodora returned. “Has the old fool been slandering me again?”

“It isn’t Justin who slanders you, but his dead wife. He constantly talks about her. I noticed he sometimes called her Lupicina. I really don’t think he realized he had.”

“I wonder if he used her slave name in private? Perhaps even in bed…”

“Ignore any mention of Euphemia, Theodora. She can’t oppose you any longer now she’s dead.”

“To everyone but the emperor.” Justinian let his head fall back and stared into the smoky haze obscuring the gilded ceiling. “Don’t be so certain that Justin believes everything he says. Assumed weakness can serve as a weapon to those who know how to wield it. On the other hand, if he’s really losing his wits, his actions will become totally unpredictable. Those around him must tread all the more warily. Including us. Especially us.”

A servant again drifted out of the dimness to wipe Justinian’s forehead and then was gone as quickly as a dream.

Theodora leaned over Justinian. “So you suppose Justin might be exaggerating his frailty? He did come to visit you today, after all.”

“Yes, and it was an unannounced visit at that. I suspect it was really to see if I’d been exaggerating my own illness.”

“I know you aren’t, but he would hardly take my word for it.” Theodora placed her scarlet lips briefly against Justinian’s forehead. “Soon you will be well, my love, and then I will take you often to that place where things are not so complicated.”

Justinian smiled weakly. “If the empire was wrenched from my grasp, I would still have what I treasure most.”

Theodora dropped to her knees, bringing her face level with her consort’s. With her eyes blazing, her lips slightly parted, and shadows stroking the smooth concavities of her cheeks, she briefly took on the aspect of some pagan love goddess. Then her eyes narrowed and her features turned harder, almost masculine. “But we will not let anyone wrench the empire away from us, will we?”

“No, of course not! We’ve both worked too hard to allow that.”

“This plot you fear, Justinian. Are you certain it hasn’t been spawned by your fever rather than Justin? The man’s a peasant. Subtle intrigue isn’t his way.”

Justinian let out a ragged breath. “Everyone says Justin’s a peasant. Why is that, when they can see with their own eyes he’s an emperor? And a ruthless one, peasant or not. Don’t you recall Amantius, the chamberlain who plotted to put his own man on the throne when Anastasius died? He gave money to Justin to buy support for his candidate. Justin used it for his own ambitious ends and within two weeks of taking the throne he had had Amantius executed.”

“You own many eminent peoples’…admiration,” Theodora pointed out.

“Like land holdings, people do not necessarily remain owned by the same person.”

“But to accuse you, emperor in all but name, of having a hand in murder! Surely that is impossible? After all, emperors may kill. They cannot commit murder.”

“I am not yet emperor and my name is linked to the Blues, some of whom are accused of the murder of Hypatius. More such links will be forged soon. You’ll see.”

“Justin is a doddering old man. Such a plot is beyond him.”

“It is not beyond Proclus. Or many others.” Theodora traced Justinian’s lips with her fingertip. “What about that slave you rescued from the dungeon? Has he discovered anything useful?”

“Not yet.”

Theodora gave a throaty chuckle. “Amantius. Wasn’t he a eunuch like this slave of yours? Would it not be a delightful irony after Justin, having bested a eunuch for the throne, hatched a plot against you that was foiled by another of those creatures? However, you say this slave is not proving to be useful?”

“I said he has discovered nothing yet. He is intelligent and a fighter and I am certain will prove useful even if he never learns a single thing of value to us concerning the current matter. For example, already certain people realize I have my eye on them through him. In fact, I may well have other delicate missions for such a man.”

Theodora smiled. “And a slave is expendable!” She brought her face closer to Justinian’s. “Do you think Justin actually sees Euphemia?”

Justinian registered surprise at the question.

“Might it not be that two people become so close they cannot be parted, even by death?”

“That’s something you’d have to ask a philosopher. Or perhaps the Patriarch.”

Theodora stood abruptly. The movement sent her perfume swirling around Justinian. “I will not let anyone steal our empire from us! Soon you will assume your rightful place.”

“But first I must recover my strength.”

“Are you really so unwell, my love?” Theodora leaned across the bed and pulled one of Justinian’s hands up to her breast. “Perhaps you are not quite as ill as you think?”

With the easy grace of the mime she had once been, she was suddenly straddling him. The servant who had advanced to wipe Justinian’s forehead yet again could not suppress a gasp. She began to retreat.

Theodora stopped her with a glare.

“Continue to wipe his brow, and mine also, until I tell you to stop.”

***

“What’s my nephew up to, that’s what I want to know.” Justin had returned to his private quarters and was now reclining on a stained and threadbare couch. The rest of the furnishings, their wood smooth with wear rather than polishing, Justin’s own furniture obtained early in his career, matched the well-worn couch. They formed a strange contrast to the heavy purple and gold wall hangings Euphemia had commissioned.

“You have employed others to answer that, Caesar,” Proclus replied. “For example, that excubitor whose services you pressed upon the City Prefect. Personally, I do not believe your nephew is even able to walk unaided at present. You may need to choose a new successor before long.”

“I wager if I dropped dead right now, he’d be out of that soft bed before my bowels had let go,”

“Why do you question your own judgment of the man? You brought him to Constantinople, educated him and made him your heir, after all. It can’t be because of Theodora, surely? Men must satisfy their urges according to their particular desires.”

“Whores are to be used, not married. By your remarks, do I take it that you’ve transferred allegiance to him?”

“No, Caesar. None of us has.”

“No? Do you think I don’t keep track of his visitors? The list goes from Aurelius to Zeno. Justinian’s shared in my wealth and used it to buy the whole Senate and half the aristocracy.”

“They support Justinian because you do, Caesar.”

The emperor glanced peevishly at his two attendants, now stationed beside the couch. “Look at me, being carted around like an infant. You would think my nephew would have the grace to wait until the Lord calls me instead of plotting to hasten me on my journey.”

“It is the fate of all to die one day, leaving others to carry on. No one can be faulted for outliving the dead. We are all guilty of it.”

“Do you think I’m angry at Justinian because he’s younger than I am?”

“It’s easy to arrange matters for our heirs when we’re young enough that such planning is likely unnecessary. But when we grow older, when we realize our plans will eventually be carried out, often we may wish to rethink them.”

“You are advising me to choose someone else as my successor, are you not, Proclus?”

“I was merely commenting in general terms, Caesar. I apologize most humbly if I offended you.”

“You’re sorry? I doubt it! You remind me of someone. No, something. Remember that crate-load of busts that arrived from Rome? King Theodoric’s gift? All those old marble heads, with chipped noses and blind stares. Senators from the time of the Republic or bakers with money to burn, like as not. My workmen used them to fill in the hole when they removed that broken fountain in Euphemia’s garden. You remind me of those very busts. Just stone, not flesh and blood. You’ve turned against me too. I can see it in those polished eyes.” The emperor’s voice had risen to a querulous whine.

“Caesar—”

Justin winced and grabbed at his injured leg. “Where’s that numbing ointment the Gourd makes for me? No. Wait, I don’t want you getting it. Summon a servant.”

Grimacing, Justin twisted around on the couch, to look for his attendants. His moist lower lip began to tremble.

“Wait! I see it all now. That’s how it will be, isn’t it? How much has he paid you? How much?” he demanded of the two men.

They looked down at the flaccid ruin of the man whom they served. Their faces registered surprise, then confusion, and then, as Justin continued to rant, panic.

“Of course it’s you two. It’s so clear! Who else is so close to me all the time? Always at my elbows or my back. I see it all now, from eggs to apples. Was it your plan, Proclus, or my nephew’s? That one day, rather than helping hands, there’d be the blade? Guards! Guards!”