Four for a Boy (9 page)

A terrible heat rushed up around him as he looked at the excubitor, swaying, splay legged and glassy eyed. An easy target.

John reminded himself he was not free to defend honor he did not possess. Were he to strike Felix, he would be destroyed like a defective tool.

Not that that possibility concerned him, for it would mean a merciful end to the undesired, phantom existence into which he had been cast.

But how then could he find those shadowy enemies who seemed to be menacing Senator Opimius and his daughter, Lady Anna?

“What, you’re not going to fight? At least pretend to be a man.” Felix took a unsteady step toward John and fell forward.

John caught him. “Come on, Felix,” he said. “Perhaps we can get you into the barracks without your captain noticing.”

Chapter Eleven

“Do you know, Proclus, I sometimes wish I were still Captain of the Excubitors. It’s a more straight-forward job than this emperor business. I should have refused the crown, especially since the Master of Offices was eager enough to wear it.”

Justin shifted uncomfortably on the marble bench in an instinctive but vain attempt to relieve the ever-present pain of his wound. He did not look at his quaestor. Instead, he stared out into the night, across the sunken garden he had insisted they visit.

“It was you for whom the crowds in the Hippodrome roared, Caesar,” Proclus replied smoothly, “and the empire would have been the poorer had you not acceded to the public will.”

“The empire got on perfectly adequately without me for several centuries. It will manage just as well when I’m gone. Each journey I take is more difficult. I wonder if this will be the last time I see this place?”

“You mused about the same thing only two weeks ago, Caesar,” Proclus pointed out. They had descended several terraces in the palace grounds, down precipitous staircases and along twisting paths meandering between groves of dark cypresses.

Their winding way took them to a long colonnade whose pillars were embraced by climbing plants, leafless in this dead season. The sylvan retreat was fitted with benches and faced a marble fountain whose wind-blown jet dared sprinkle droplets on the ruler of the empire as the small procession passed by.

Justin produced a key, opened a low door in the far corner of the colonnade, and thus they had come at last to this concealed garden.

Hemmed in by the blank back of the colonnade and two tall brick retaining walls, the narrow, enclosed space held its secrets fast among the cascading vines and trailing bushes spilling down in thick profusion from plantings on the terrace towering above its fourth side. The trees faintly silhouetted on the level above them might have been floating in the starry sky.

Justin’s attendants, breathing as heavily as the emperor, had lowered him to the bench and, on his curt order, departed to the other side of the colonnade door.

“This garden was Euphemia’s notion,” Justin said. “A private place kept only for us, away from prying eyes and ears. We often came here at night. It’s a good place to talk, and sometimes even…yes…” A reminiscent smile lightened his broad, ruddy face.

Proclus observed that the imperial living quarters offered more warmth, not to mention comfort, on this cold night and pointedly suggested that Justin might be more comfortable there rather than sitting in a cold, dark garden.

“Would I? Even the most trusted guards have ears, Proclus. Yes, on reflection, I should have allowed someone else to take the throne. My life would have been simpler.”

“The Master of Offices was incompetent. As for your other rival, Amantius…he was a villain, to say the least. A treacherous eunuch. Would you have allowed him to place his own man on the throne?”

“There are those who think I am more treacherous still,” Justin replied. “My nephew, to name but one. He believes I condemned Amantius for no other reason than to serve my own ambition. Naturally, he fears I intend to employ the same strategy with him, which is to say executing him for the murder of Hypatius. My own nephew, a man I have educated and nurtured and made my heir, believes this vile lie! How do I know, you wonder? Let’s just say that, like my guards, the walls of the Hormisdas have ears. Perhaps, after all, I am not a foolish old man to wish to speak to you privately here.”

His voice was so low that Proclus could barely make out his words over the sound of water reverberating around the rectangular space. At the base of the waterfall tumbling from the terrace above an alabaster Diana stood poised on a marble outcrop in the middle of a pool whose edges were lost in thick undergrowth.

The moon had risen. As his eyes grew accustomed to its stark, blue light, Proclus could see other alabaster forms, a deer, a goat, a boar, half concealed amid rampant bushes. The pale animals looked alive and made him uneasy, although less so than when he looked up at the rectangle of sky. Then he felt as if he was standing at the bottom of a freshly dug grave.

“Your humors are troubling you this evening, Caesar, and naturally your nephew’s illness worries you, as it does everyone,” he offered. “All these ridiculous plots people gossip about are no more real than that hare by your foot.”

Justin let out a wheezing cough. The long walk down to the garden had taxed his strength. “I have placed my trust in you, Proclus. I want to make certain you know exactly what is going on so you can take appropriate measures should anything happen to me.”

“Happen? What do you mean?” “If I knew what might happen, I could prevent it,” Justin snapped back. “When the streets are on fire who can predict where the wind will carry sparks? You must be prepared for all eventualities.”

“The City Prefect is bringing the troublemakers firmly under control, exactly as you ordered,” Proclus assured him.

“Is he? How can a man who dabbles in magick and potions be trusted?”

“I thought you placed great faith in that painkilling concoction he brings you?”

“To relieve this agony, Proclus, I would deal with Satan. I am not saying that the Gourd does not serve me, but that he is most unreliable. He has strange notions. The other day he told me he knows a man who has unlocked the secret of flight. The Gourd was very excited. He envisions his men soaring above the city, spying out malefactors, swooping down upon them. How can you trust a man with such delusions?”

“Nevertheless, he is making the streets safer, by all accounts.”

“Would this be for my benefit, or to further his own ambitions?”

“You think that he has designs on the throne, Caesar?”

“He has accumulated quite a large force to keep order in the city,” Justin pointed out, “and whereas my excubitors may be better trained and armed, their numbers are far fewer.”

Proclus hastily assured him of the Prefect’s loyalty.

“Justinian trusts him even less than I do,” Justin replied. “He claims that is why he initiated his investigation into Hypatius’ death. On the contrary, I believe it was launched because he’s afraid I’ve ordered the Gourd to produce evidence implicating him.”

“You would never do such a thing.” Proclus sounded shocked.

“Of course not! However, Justinian has a certain someone whispering poisonous thoughts in his ear all hours of the day and night, doesn’t he?”

From the darkness came the faint mournful call of some nocturnal bird Proclus did not recognize. The quaestor had never taken an interest in the outdoors. To him, night meant neatly scrivened sheets of laws softly glowing in lamplight, and perhaps a splash of wine at the end of his labors.

“Surely Justinian is as interested in finding out the truth about Hypatius’ death as you are,” he finally ventured.

Justin laughed. “How do you suppose a slave and an excubitor are going to solve such a mystery? Justinian is simply giving a less than subtle warning, telling me he is aware of my supposed conspiracy against him. As if the emperor needs to conspire to remain in power! All I need to do that is order an execution and it is done. That, of course, is what my nephew fears.”

He sighed. “Doubtless, the slave is also there to keep an eye on the Gourd, just as Felix has been instructed, except of course the one reports to me and the other to Justinian. Why do you imagine the Gourd’s so angry about those two? Frankly, it makes me suspect he’s up to something he doesn’t want me to know about. And naturally Felix is also keeping watch on Justinian’s slave for me. Oh, my nephew and I have had a long conversation about all this, dancing about the subject without ever once coming right out and saying what we meant. It’s all very tiresome, Proclus. All of us at court have to deceive endlessly in order to keep each other honest.”

His companion’s brow wrinkled as he considered the matter. “A pair of informers, known to be such not only to each other but also to the person both are supposed to be informing on…that would appear to create an impasse. If they do manage to find out who murdered Hypatius, so much the better. A most intelligent strategy, Caesar. My compliments.” He bowed.

“You don’t need to flatter me, Proclus,” Justin replied, sounding pleased. “Now tell me this. How do you know I didn’t order you to accompany me to this secluded place so you could be strangled?”

“Caesar?” The garden, frosted by moonlight and populated by indistinctly seen creatures lurking in thick vegetation, suddenly appeared sinister and unwelcoming.

“Don’t tell me you harbor no ambitions! Yet as I said, I do trust you, and so I will tell you a secret. Ah, you look distressed. It isn’t healthy to know an emperor’s secrets, is it? Nevertheless, be warned, I have no intention of replacing Justinian with another heir. He is my blood kin, my sister’s son, and I promised her when I adopted him that I would raise him up to succeed me. He is like the son Euphemia and I could not have.”

Proclus murmured a few words of sympathy.

“Besides which, it’s the actress who’s the cause of most of the trouble between Justinian and me.” Justin sighed. “She’s the one who keeps urging him to take action. Why the haste? My nephew’s only just in his forties. A young man compared to me. He has plenty of time left to rule. First, though, he must realize that he has to dispose of that vile woman. It might be that this rift between us will help him see his folly, along with the inevitable cooling off of passion. Or so Euphemia has advised me.” The emperor moved stiffly on the bench, again shifting his weight, but not the pain from his leg.

Proclus briefly wondered how successful Justin would be in having Justinian removed from the succession in the absence of an excellent pretext, given his nephew’s popularity. He didn’t voice those thoughts, however. “I assure you I have no designs on the throne, Caesar,” he repeated, still expecting to hear stealthy movement behind him at any instant.

“You don’t want to be emperor, believe me. I was ambitious and what has it come to? As a young man I left Dardania with two companions. We had nothing but the clothes on our backs and a crust or two of bread for provisions. You know the saying that something that happened long ago might have occurred only yesterday? Well, our journey might have begun just this morning. I’m not old and sick, really, merely tired and footsore from a long day’s walk.”

Justin closed his eyes, the better to view his memories. “I recall crossing a stone bridge as we left,” he said. “The stream was low. Then a little way past the bridge there was the small cemetery where all our kinfolk are buried. Yes, we left both the living and the dead behind to come to Constantinople, seeking a better life.”

Proclus listened intently as the ailing man described his long-ago odyssey.

“The three of us walked that dusty, rutted road,” Justin recalled. “Sometimes we sang, sometimes we marched along in silence. At night we slept wherever we could find shelter. And we kept walking for many days. I wasn’t expecting a great future. The thought of rising to be Captain of Excubitors never crossed my mind, and as for one day ruling the empire, well…No, all we looked forward to each dawn was the end of the day when we could rest and eat whatever we had managed to find. I achieved more than any man could hope to accomplish, yet what does any of it matter now? It’s all behind me.”

“I pray that is not so, Caesar.”

Justin opened his eyes, but turned his head to look toward the far corner of the garden rather than at Proclus. “It is all as nothing. I might have dreamt being emperor. Memories have no more substance than dreams, and in the end all our lives will become only memories. I’ve led men into battle, seen kings kneel before me. I’ve raised great churches to the glory of the Lord, heard the accolades of thousands in the Hippodrome. Yet if I had only an hour of my life to live again, it would be the first time I shared the bed of the girl I married. So much for all our ambitions, my loyal quaestor.”

Proclus said nothing.

Justin leaned forward and peered attentively into the shadows clustered around the cascade of trailing vines at the far end of the garden. “Ah, Euphemia, my dear, there you are. I have been waiting for you. Leave us alone for a while now, Proclus.”

Proclus followed the emperor’s gaze. Back there, partially obscured by a black filigree of tree limbs, something pale caught the moonlight. It was nothing more than an unhealthy mist rising, he thought uneasily. Yet the shape was vaguely that of a woman. A statue, then. One he had not noticed before. He bowed and backed away from Justin’s presence.

Proclus did not stop until he was a few paces from the guards who waited just outside the door to the concealed garden. He did not want to risk overhearing the emperor’s conversation.

Chapter Twelve

Sitting in Lady Anna’s study the next morning, John could still feel Felix’s weight. It was as if the excubitor were perched on his shoulders like a demon which had arrived during a nightmare and refused to depart with the morning light.

“You look pained, John. Is my work so poor?” Lady Anna’s unpainted lips were set in a line of concern.

“It’s well done, Lady Anna.” John set aside the copying exercise he had been correcting and managed a smile. Anna’s answering smile blossomed.

Anna might not have been considered a beauty by court standards. There was nothing striking about her features and she did not use cosmetics to paint herself a new face. John, however, found her intelligence attractive. It was a pity that her intelligence did not extend to an understanding of more worldly concerns, or, more precisely, other peoples’ concerns involving herself.

John made an effort to banish the excubitor’s phantom weight. His memories of dark streets and recent events, so inappropriate here, drew back a step.

In this room, painted roses bloomed on walls and climbed over arbors formed by arched niches holding the scrolls and codices Anna collected as other women might hoard jewelry.

“Am I progressing well with this strange language?” Anna sounded anxious.

John smiled again. “In a few more months you will be speaking Persian like a native.” His expression clouded for a heartbeat and then cleared again. Not quickly enough to escape the notice of his aristocratic pupil.

“You hate the Persians.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“Many hate them. With good reason.”

“Why then did you learn their language?”

“Of necessity.”

Lady Anna picked a scroll from the neat pile on her writing desk. “I’ve been trying to translate this romantic tale, John. It is really quite beautiful. The man has not seen the woman since childhood. One day her litter goes past and the wind disturbs its curtain. When he sees her, he is so overcome that he faints and falls off his horse!”

“Unfortunately, the Persians who formed my opinions weren’t prone to swooning in their saddles.”

“But aren’t they just like us? Most of us aren’t violent, grasping after power and wealth. Should Persians judge all Romans by the actions of a ruthless man such as the Gourd?”

“If they are prudent, they will.” John broke off, appalled not only at his own words but the tone. “I am sorry, Lady Anna. I spoke out of turn.”

“But in this perhaps you can learn from me? You are not a man filled with hatred, like so many at the palace. Why do you then hate the Persians so?”

“With respect, slaves should not burden others with their pasts.”

Anna toyed with her still furled scroll. She tapped it against her lips, then stared out over it at John. “I could order you to tell me…”

“Lady Anna…”

“I would not do that. The positions we occupy in society are not of our choosing, but our loyalties certainly are.” Anna laid her scroll back on the pile. “When I’m somewhat more fluent and have accomplished my translation I shall show it to you. The story concerns love between a man and the wife of his brother. A most improper love, yet I can understand it.”

“I shall report your continued progress to your father,” John said, changing the subject.

Anna sighed. “Yes, I’m sure father will be pleased by my achievements. I wonder why so many don’t realize there are greater enemies closer to home than at the border?”

Hardly a surprising comment, John thought, given the recent attempt on her father’s life. Seizing his opportunity, he asked her hesitantly if she had any thoughts on who might wish to harm the senator.

“When men become powerful, they have as many enemies as a ship has barnacles,” Anna replied. “Then, too often, men have long memories. They nurse grudges for years until their chance for revenge arrives. Or they have one too many burdens to carry, or some other reason, trifling perhaps in itself, but one that causes them to finally strike.” She paused. “Isn’t it said that the best revenge is one that has been contemplated for some time?”

“Certainly many hold it to be so. But as to that, although many thought very highly of Hypatius surely he too had enemies?”

Lady Anna shook her head. “You would have to ask those who knew him best, I suppose.” She paused. From further back in the house came the sound of a loud argument. The shrill voices of two women could be heard; they obscenely taunted each other, apparently having fallen out over a man whom one claimed was her lover, a claim hotly disputed with lascivious details by the other.

Anna looked neither shocked nor surprised. “Those two are always fighting. I shall have to quench this outburst before father returns. He doesn’t need strife breaking out in his kitchen as well as on the doorstep. If I have to warn them again they will have to go. This seems to be a good time to end my lessons for today, John, so I will say goodbye for now.”

John remained in Anna’s study and finished correcting her work before going into the corridor. He did not care to witness women’s squabbles nor to extend his increasingly uncomfortable visit, so rather then passing through the kitchen to the servants’ entrance, he decided he could be forgiven for leaving by the front door for once. Especially if nobody saw him.

Just as he crossed the atrium, however, voices and the stamping of feet at the entrance announced the arrival of Senator Opimius and a companion.

“Ah, John, are you leaving?” the senator said. “Remain for now, please. I want to speak to you about my daughter’s progress.” Turning to his companion he added, “This is the man I mentioned to you, Aurelius, the one I borrowed from the palace to tutor Anna.”

“And what are you teaching her, John?” The visitor arched an imperious eyebrow. His features had the look of the classical busts Justinian had imported and placed all around the Hormisdas Palace, although a tactful sculptor would certainly have chiseled away the nascent, middle-aged jowls. He could be nothing but a senator. A sharp contrast to Opimius, who resembled an assistant to the overseer of an obscure administrative department.

“I am helping her to learn Persian, sir.”

Aurelius ran his hand through black curls. Once, they might have been unruly, but they were now thinning and beginning to silver. “An interesting choice of languages. I suppose it’s prudent to know your enemies.”

“What is more important,” put in Opimius, “is knowing which of our acquaintances are also enemies. Anna chose the subject of her lessons herself. She wanted to try to learn something challenging, she said.”

“And what will she decide to study next? If I were you, I would be happier if the next subject she takes an interest in is one of Justin’s subjects. An unmarried one.”

“A thought that has crossed my mind more than once, Aurelius. But then you are a father yourself.”

“Yes, it won’t be long before Penelope and I will have to start considering matrimonial alliances for Anatolius. Not to mention placing him in a good post at court. Now, if only your Anna were younger or my son was older.”

The conversation was interrupted by two laborers in dirt encrusted breeches. The men strolled across the atrium, paused to give Opimius vague, deferential bows and continued on their way.

Aurelius raised his eyebrow again.

“The bath house hypocaust is not working,” Opimius explained. “Of all times to fail. Naturally just when I’d prefer not to be obliged to venture out to the public baths.”

“A problem with the flues perhaps?”

“Possibly. Fate can be unkind even to senators,” Opimius replied, going on to suggest they repair to his office. One glance was all John needed to know that his attendance was required there also. He could not help thinking that if Opimius’ greatest worry was a malfunctioning hypocaust, then perhaps Fate treated senators very lightly indeed.

As soon as the men were settled John poured them wine from the glass flask on Opimius’ desk.

“Opimius, if you will forgive me for saying so, with the state the city’s currently in, it is not a wise idea to allow unknown workmen to wander through your house. I’ve mentioned this before and I wish you’d heed my warnings.”

“Of course, you are right,” Opimius muttered absently. “You know, Aurelius, the view from this office is much more pleasant when the garden is in full bloom.” He scowled at the closed panels. “Anna has been talking about new plantings a lot lately although spring still seems very far away.”

Aurelius sipped his wine. “Yes, she loves her gardening, does Anna. At times I wish I had only a daughter to look after. Anatolius is a difficult boy, I fear. Headstrong and yet given to scribbling poetry. Oh, you can laugh, but believe it or not the other night he shaved the front of his head and ran off to play with a bunch of Blues. This was the same night the Gourd put on his little exhibition. The boy nearly got himself killed.”

“Just as well Justin didn’t hear about him being involved in that escapade.”

Aurelius waved his hand. “Oh, Justin no doubt knows all about it. It would have reached his ears before dawn that the son of one of his senators was involved in that frightful business. He’d realize the boy’s too young to have meant any harm. I’m more worried about the Gourd taking it on himself to investigate. You can’t tell what the man is liable to do.” He held out his wine cup for John to refill.

John did so, maintaining a carefully neutral expression. Even after some years laboring at the palace, he still found it strange that men would blithely speak of the most secret matters in front of their servants, or anyone else’s servants for that matter. It was obvious they considered them no more than furniture, and furniture could not hear. Even so, judging from Aurelius’ slighting remarks about the Gourd, it was evident that John’s new assignment had not yet become common knowledge. No doubt it would be soon enough.

“But what really angered me,” Aurelius was saying, “was that when he arrived back home in the middle of the night, the boy had the temerity to tell me some ridiculous tale about hiding in a huge pig and being rescued by an excubitor and a tall fellow with a strange look in his eyes.”

Opimius smiled. “Sounds like a budding Homer to me.”

“I see you are as amused as I was! Or as amused as I was after I punished him. It’s one thing to go out and risk life and limb. We all did that when we were young. Nonetheless, I will not have him lying to me. I sent him off to stay with his uncle Zeno for a while. Away from the city. That’ll keep him out of mischief!”

“Zeno? Is that wise? Isn’t he the fellow who aspires to launch himself from a tower and fly across the Golden Horn?”

“You’re thinking of the man who calls himself Avis. Zeno has some eccentric interests, but he’s harmless. The gods forbid that Anatolius should ever make the acquaintance of Avis.”

“I wish they hadn’t seen fit to allow Anna to meet Avis.” Opimius sounded rueful. “Luckily she has sense enough not to try out these wings he’s said to be working on. Or at least I hope not. Unfortunately she insists on contributing to his expenses on a regular basis. I fear her fancies sometimes run away with her reason. Penelope must have been frantic over your son’s adventure.”

“Indeed she was. She’s already upset about our impending move. She doesn’t want to live closer to the palace, and I don’t blame her. I think she’ll grow fond of the new house in due course, especially since she has a free hand with its decoration.”

“When are you moving?”

“Next month. By the time Anatolius returns from his little holiday at the seaside, we’ll be settled in.”

“He does know you’re moving to a new house?” Opimius asked with a twinkle in his eye. “I mean, he won’t get back and find the old one shuttered and deserted?”

“What? Oh, yes, I see. Very good jest, Opimius!” Aurelius laughed.

John came to a sudden decision. “If I may speak, Senator Opimius?”

He had spoken quietly, but Opimius’ expression could not have been more startled if his desk had begun to recite Ovid. The tone in which he granted permission clearly indicated there would be a price to be paid later for the impudence. John forged ahead anyway.

“Senator Aurelius, your son told you nothing but the truth concerning his odyssey the other night.”

Aurelius’ classical features twisted into a most unclassical scowl. He looked John up and down.

“And how would you know?” he barked. “You’re obviously not a Blue and they were the only ones there at the time, apart from the Gourd’s men.”

“My apologies, senator, but I was there also.” John rapidly described what had transpired after he and Felix had discovered the boy in the butcher’s shop. He was careful to say nothing of the nature of his assignment beyond a brief mention that it had placed Felix and himself into temporary service with the Gourd.

Aurelius’ expression softened as the details John gave proved the truth of his claim. “So, you are working for the Prefect, whom I have just jestingly been referring to by his nickname…and you are the tall man my son spoke about? I hear that your cloak was torn to shreds?”

“It was ruined by pig’s blood, senator.”

“Certainly. I was just testing the veracity of your statements,” Aurelius admitted. “If Senator Opimius will permit you to come to my house later today, I will be happy to reward you for your swift action. I’ll also reimburse you for your cloak. And the excubitor’s name?”

“It was the German, Felix. He is one of Justin’s bodyguards. But if I may…” John paused and then, taking heart from the fact that given his task he was surely under Justinian’s protection, plunged on, ignoring the darkening expression on Opimius’ face. “I would wish to ask for something different as a reward.”

Aurelius waved his hand airily once more. It had the studied look of a much-practiced gesture. “And this would be?”

“I wish to ask you a couple of questions.”

“I see! This is a shrewd fellow indeed, Opimius. He values a senator’s knowledge more highly than gold. Proceed! I am not promising I will answer, mark you.”

“Senator, you know most of the court and many landowners and wealthy citizens. Are you aware of any who harbor ill will toward the emperor’s nephew, Justinian?”