Five for Silver: A John, the Lord Chamberlain Mystery (20 page)

Lucilius sat as a last gust of hilarity swept the table. Theodora turned her gaze toward Crinagoras.

He climbed shakily to his feet and muttered the brief words of praise for the empress with which Anatolius had coached him on the ride there.

The empress offered only a glimmer of a smile. “Proceed, dear Crinagoras.”

He looked around the table, licked his lips nervously, and began his recitation. “Alas, woe, poor, bereft Crinagoras.”

Before he had reached the end of his fourth verse a few guests shielded their mouths to muffle snickers.

Crinagoras stopped.

The purple canopy made snapping sounds in a freshening breeze. A bird called from the underbrush fringing the open space.

Crinagoras cleared his throat and began again, his voice shaking. “Alas, woe, poor, bereft Crinagoras, he who lingers behind fair Eudoxia, she of the—”

More stifled laughter distracted him.

He glanced down at Anatolius, his expression that of a rabbit in a snare, and then soldiered valiantly on.

“—fair Eudoxia, she of the moon-white bosom—”

A strident laugh drowned out the poet’s faltering voice.

It was Theodora. Having thus been granted permission, the guests joined in.

Crinagoras sat down.

“No, no. You must continue, Crinagoras,” Theodora ordered. “Your poetry is well known at court and we wish to savor it from the lips of its creator.”

Crinagoras swayed to his feet.

Fortuna proved more merciful than Theodora. Before he could continue, two guards appeared, dragging the holy fool between them.

Theodora turned to face the arrivals, demanding to know what had happened.

The guards were husky young men, with broad shoulders and wide, bland faces. The fool hung between them, limp as an empty old wine skin, his long hair flopping down and obscuring his features.

One of the guards displayed something that flashed in the sunlight.

“A knife? He intended to assassinate someone?”

“He was trying to steal it from the kitchen, highness,” the guard replied. “We caught him with a sack full of imperial silver.”

Theodora addressed their captive. “You truly are a fool. I favor you with an invitation to inspire my guests and you attempt to steal imperial silver. Do you realize the punishment you face?”

The fool twisted convulsively, slithering from his startled guard’s grasp. Quick as a striking snake, he snatched a gold bee from Theodora’s hair.

The two guards stood dumbfounded.

Theodora rose slowly from her chair. Though shorter than the guards, she seemed to tower over them. “What if this man had been an assassin?”

Her tone was low, but many of those present blanched at the venom it carried.

At her gesture, other armed men who had been stationed around the perimeter of the dining area rushed to take charge of the errant guards.

“Pray that you contract the plague immediately,” Theodora told the two unfortunates. “Your demise then would be considerably more pleasant than what I am contemplating as a reward for your failure to carry out your duties.”

“Please return the knife to the empress,” put in the fool. “With this fine ornament, and the other items I’ve chosen, I would otherwise be over-compensated for the entertainment I provided.”

Theodora smiled. “You have a mime’s wit, fool. Are your wits nimble enough to explain why you should not join these two in the dungeons? You have, after all, admitted to stealing imperial property.”

“Could there be a more heinous crime than stealing from the emperor and empress, our most generous benefactors? Yet how many present would learn that lesson if no one dared to show them by example?”

Anatolius realized from Theodora’s laughter that the fool’s body would remain intact for another day.

Then again it might all have been planned. “Let’s hope this is part of the entertainment too, for the sake of those guards,” Anatolius whispered. “What do you think, Crinagoras?”

There was no reply.

Glancing sideways, Anatolius was horrified to see his friend had vanished.

If he had chosen to flee the banquet without Theodora’s permission, it would be the worse for him.

Then he noticed the pale hand by the stool next to him and the remainder of the poet sprawled in the grass under the table.

Crinagoras had managed to make his escape by losing consciousness.

***

Gaius straightened up and turned away from the motionless body sprawled on the hospice cot. He shook his head at Anatolius, waiting nearby. “Nothing more than a bad bump on the back of his skull. Nothing to worry about.”

The supine figure stirred and whimpered. “Is it safe to move now?”

“You’ll feel some swelling there, Crinagoras,” Gaius told him. “That’s to be expected. However, if the swelling happens to spread to your armpits or groin, do let me know.”

Crinagoras sat up, prodded the back of his head, and let out a yelp of pain. His face darkened. “It was awful, Gaius. Everyone was laughing at me.”

Anatolius could sense anguish in his friend’s tone. “It was Theodora’s idea of a jest,” he said kindly. “Whenever the empress laughs, her guests have to pretend to laugh as well.”

“They sounded very convincing to me.”

“You must have noticed that the empress certainly appeared to be enjoying your recitation,” Anatolius said. “I’m sorry I had to rush you away from the banquet, but you seemed exceedingly groggy and she kindly allowed us to leave before the entertainments concluded.”

“I don’t get very many patients arriving in imperial carriages,” Gaius observed with a grin.

“You see? The empress lent you her own carriage. Few at court can say that!”

“No doubt Theodora wanted to ensure you’d remain with us and so would be available to entertain her further in the future,” Gaius observed.

Crinagoras struggled to his feet. “Perhaps,” he grudgingly conceded. He looked down and scuffed his boot on the floor. “I do wish she’d had the bear dung cleaned out first.”

“Was anyone else reciting?” Gaius asked.

“Lucilius,” Anatolius said. “One of the court poets.”

“Not to mention a literary thief,” Crinagoras put in hotly. “Although I will admit jests about physicians have always been favorites of mine.”

“Do you know why a poet is deadlier than a viper?” Gaius replied.

“Oh, I haven’t heard that one! Why is that so?”

“In order to kill, a viper needs to open its mouth and sink its fangs into the victim, whereas a poet needs only to open his mouth.”

Anatolius laughed and took Crinagoras by the elbow.

“Nothing like a bit of humor to ease the pain of your patients, is there, Gaius? We’d better be on our way.” He stopped in the doorway. “Since we’re here, however, I understand Hypatia has been helping you?”

“She just went to the other wing to look in on her favorite patient. If you wanted to stop by and give her some encouragement, Anatolius, it would be a kind gesture. She is a good worker, even if she does need to be reminded now and then that there are sufferers other than the one she’s devoted to.” He raised a warning hand. “Oh, one thing more, Crinagoras. You must not do anything strenuous for a few days. That means no exertion or heavy work and whatever you do, no writing for the time being either. There’s no telling what damage fanning those blazing fires of divine inspiration might cause you right now.”

Suppressing a smile, Anatolius thanked Gaius for his advice and hurried Crinagoras through the crowded hospice to the wing where Hypatia was working.

Directed further by a passing assistant, they soon found the hallway indicated and walked down it, glancing into each room.

“That’s Hypatia’s voice!” Anatolius suddenly declared. “I wonder if this is the room where this favorite patient of hers is—”

He stepped quickly back from the doorway.

“Mithra!” he cursed and hastily ushered Crinagoras outside.

***

“I’m not surprised John isn’t here, but the news I have is important. I’ll wait.” Anatolius was crossing the atrium on his way to the garden before Thomas could reply.

“There’s no one here but Peter and myself,” Thomas informed him as he followed.

Dusk had settled over the city. Light from torches set in the garden’s peristyle glinted on foliage, leaving the deepening shadows beneath trees and bushes untouched.

Anatolius dropped on to the bench beside the pool, “I saw Hypatia at the hospice a little while ago. I would have thought she’d be back home by now.”

“She will be here soon. Gaius lends her an escort home, if I can’t meet her myself,” Thomas replied. “However, just to change the subject, what do you make of that strange object?”

He pointed to the olive tree. A brass plate to which three or four short leather strips were attached hung from a branch. Taking the odd contraption down, he handed it to Anatolius. “I bought it from one of those vendors of trifles you see here and there.”

Anatolius glanced at the object and handed it back. “Not many sell portable oracles, I would think.”

Thomas looked disappointed as he hung the plate back on the branch. “You know it’s a reproduction of the oracle at Dodona?”

“I’d read its description, yes, but this is the first example I’ve actually handled. Why did you buy it?”

Thomas grinned in an embarrassed fashion. “It’s a lot of nonsense, of course, but I thought it would amuse Europa.”

“It’s often difficult to purchase suitable gifts for ladies.” Anatolius sounded wistful. “Mind you, most of the ones to whom I’ve presented tokens of my affection would scorn such a simple and useful item. They’d be much more interested in perfume and jewelry or fine clothing, things like that.”

“Then apparently being a barbarian has its advantages.” Thomas tapped the plate, listening to the leather strips slapping against it.

“It will only work correctly when the wind blows,” Anatolius remarked. “Why do you suppose it will amuse Europa? Is there some uncertainty in her future? A decision yet to made?”

“She will make the right decision,” Thomas confidently predicted and turned to look at John, who was approaching quietly from the house. “Lord Chamberlain, you have a visitor. I must depart to consult someone about a certain matter, so I’ll leave you to talk.”

John glanced at the brass plate, then looked after the retreating Briton. He asked Anatolius if he knew where the oracle had been found.

“Thomas mentioned he purchased it from a street vendor. Why do you ask?”

“Nereus’ house was broken into and one of his Dodona oracles is missing.”

“And you think that someone desperate to purchase food stole it and sold it to Thomas?”

“It seems a reasonable explanation, doesn’t it? A plate is easily carried.”

“From your gloomy demeanor I don’t need an oracle to predict your investigation isn’t going well.”

John sat down beside Anatolius and briefly recounted his day’s efforts, including his visit to the bookseller turned innkeeper for the dead.

“I’m not surprised to hear about Scipio’s newest commercial venture,” Anatolius observed. “He’s always struck me as more interested in coins than words. Oh, he fancies himself a shrewd businessman, but a really shrewd businessman would be selling wine or bread or shoes—anything but literary works. Do you believe this cart driver you sought really died of the plague? It seems very convenient to me. There were no visible wounds, I take it?”

“No. Still, next time you see Crinagoras, you should strongly advise him to stay on guard. He might want to retain Thomas in his employ for a while as well.”

“Yes, I’ll tell him. But are you really surprised one of the remaining witnesses would be carried off by the plague? I’d have wagered more than one of them would meet the same end. It’s almost a race between you and death, John. Are there any of the five witnesses still left alive you haven’t interviewed?”

Five for silver, John suddenly thought uneasily, remembering the strange fortune-telling rhyme he had heard so long ago in Bretania. Five witnesses left alive and silver in plenty to be had, given Nereus’ wealth. “Only this holy fool who seems to be everywhere and nowhere.”

“Perhaps you should try following Crinagoras. The fool seems to be following him around. First he’s at Nereus’ house, then Theodora’s banquet. Crinagoras tells me that Scipio tried to convince him he should write a chronicle of the fool’s antics. The bookseller’s taken an interest in the rascal, calculating people will want to read about him and his outrageous goings-on. He has a point, I will say, but Crinagoras refused to entertain the notion. He’s become quite distressed of late. He keeps telling me the holy man won’t let him alone.”

“You say the fool was at the empress’ banquet at Justinian’s Blachernae estate?”

“That’s right. I was going to tell you about it.” He recounted the fool’s performance. “If Theodora had thrown the fool into the imperial dungeons, you’d know exactly where to find him. As it is, he could be anywhere in the city or half way to Egypt by now. However, there is one mystery I have solved for you, even if it has nothing at all to do with Gregory’s murder.”

“And what might that be?” John leaned forward, picked up a pebble, tossed it into the pool, and watched rings spreading out toward the edge of the basin.

“When I was at the hospice this evening I saw the young man to whom Hypatia has become quite attached, and I’m sorry to say it’s that disgusting young court page Hektor.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

“If you’re looking for Hypatia, I sent her home with a guard less than an hour ago.” Gaius looked up from the tray on which he was arranging what appeared to John to be undersized butcher’s tools.

“It’s just as well she isn’t here.”

Gaius wiped a fine-toothed saw on a none too clean cloth. “You’re as enigmatic as ever, John. I don’t suppose you’ve visited at this time of night to chat. What is it?”

The physician looked as if he hadn’t slept for days. The circles under his eyes might have been deep purplish bruises.

“Do you know anything about this favorite patient of Hypatia’s? Have you treated him yourself?”

“I’ve been concentrating on those suffering from the plague. My colleagues are very capable and really, with burns like that, all you can do is bathe them well in water and vinegar and keep the victims supplied with pain-killing potions.”

The physician rubbed his face wearily. “Then too we’ve had a sudden influx of patients who are half dead, but won’t die,” he went on. “At least not until they really get the plague. All of them are convinced they already have it, and from talking to them I gather they took massive amounts of what was purportedly hellebore, hoping for a quick end. Whatever it was, it wasn’t poisonous enough to do the job. I imagine the purveyor of poison will be in some danger once his disgruntled customers get well enough to seek him out again.”

“Doubtless a refund of whatever they paid will be the least of their demands,” John observed, making a mental note to convey this startling development to Isis as soon as possible.

At John’s request Gaius escorted him to the patient’s room.

Inside the hospice it might have been midday since the halls were just as crowded, the cries of anguish were ceaseless as ever, the bustling attendants as numerous. Death and illness paid no heed to the hour.

“That’s the one.” Gaius indicated the room from the end of the hallway. The loud shouts emanating from within made it clear the patients were engaged in a game of knucklebones.

“Gambling seems to be inordinately popular here,” the physician went on, “considering we’re all rolling the bones with death every day. If you don’t mind, I’m hoping to get a little sleep, so I’ll leave you.”

John watched Gaius trudge off and then strode into the room he had pointed out.

The young man looked up. When he saw John, the suppurating red ruin of his features instantly twisted into a familiar sneer. “The Lord Chamberlain blesses us with his presence.”

The other wagerers in the room expressed vigorous doubts, well laced with obscenities, as to the validity of the claim.

John ordered them to leave, his tone and demeanor demanding obedience.

He looked more closely at Hektor. The court page had been a pretty boy who had grown into a handsome young man. Now all that was gone. “I regret your—”

“I doubt it,” Hektor interrupted. “At least the injury I suffered has not diminished me as a man. No, rather I consider my misfortune a sign from heaven.”

John ignored the insult.

“While the delightful Hypatia cared for me,” Hektor continued, “I had plenty of time to ponder my situation. Consider. I have been shown the eternal burning pit of Hell.”

John wondered if the young man’s experience had upset his humors. It was understandable if it had.

Hektor flung his arms wide. “Yes, Lord Chamberlain, the Lord cast a sinful court page into the pit and a Christian emerged. I intend to enter the church, for am I not a living example of how even the most miserable sinner among us can be saved?”

Justinian’s court was Christian and men could advance as far on piety as by their looks. Hektor’s intelligence was certainly still intact, John thought. “The truth is you were found intoxicated and unconscious in some gutter or other and mistaken for dead,” he said, recalling what Felix had told him about Hektor’s recent behavior. “Do you really believe anyone at court will believe you’ve become a fervent Christian?”

“It has always amazed me what people will believe, Lord Chamberlain. Besides, as you see, I wear the marks of my sincerity.” He ran a slender finger across his blistered face. The fingernail still bore a trace of colored polish, the last vestige of the pretty court page he had been.

Hektor’s character, however, had not been affected by his terrible experience.

“We shall see. Now, concerning Hypatia—”

Hektor grinned. “She told you I proposed marriage? I am flattered you would personally visit to give me your congratulations. Of course, I’m a few years younger than she, but vastly older in experience. In fact, I believe your friend Anatolius was already composing letters for the Master of the Offices at my age.”

“I will strongly advise Hypatia against any such union, Hektor.”

“And destroy her happiness? I am surprised at your jealousy! Why, I even gave her my ring as a token of my intentions.”

“Hypatia is free to choose her own husband, but don’t think you can use her as a means to gain access to my household. I’m well aware of your enmity toward me.”

“And if Hypatia marries me?” the young man replied insolently.

“Then she will leave my employ immediately.”

***

Outside the hospice, the Augustaion was sunk in an orange twilight. Night never descended entirely anywhere near the Great Church, with its hundreds of lamps shining through scores of windows.

John walked away from the direction of the Great Palace. He did not care to return home yet. He stuck to the center of the Mese, avoiding its shadowed colonnades. No stars were visible in the sky. Here and there smoke ascended in columns, glowing in the city lights.

He arrived at the semi-circular courtyard housing Isis’ establishment, the gilded Eros outside announcing the business conducted therein.

Zeus opened the door and gestured John inside with a grandiose wave of a gold-painted, wooden thunderbolt.

John, a swift glance encompassing the spectacle before him, from the crown of a well-curled gray wig to the gilt-encrusted sandals adorning large, pale feet, handed his blade to the father of the gods.

The doorkeeper looked highly embarrassed as he placed it with other weapons ranged neatly beside the door.

“Well, Thomas, you certainly appear to have risen in the world since I last saw you. As far as Olympus, in fact.”

“You followed me, didn’t you?”

“As a matter of fact, I merely decided to call on Isis. What are you doing here? Presumably you have a good reason for impersonating Zeus?”

Thomas flushed, heightened color clashing with his gray wig and red mustache. “I’ve been contemplating my future, John, and I thought it was time I followed a more regular calling. I’d never contemplated working in a place like this, but when I visited Isis yesterday to…er…renew our acquaintanceship, she offered me the post. I thought well, why not?” He frowned. “I never anticipated it would involve having to dress up in this ridiculous costume.”

He paused as light footsteps announced the arrival of the madam. “John! I thought I recognized your voice. What do you think about our new doorkeeper? With Zeus guarding us, how can we fail to prosper?”

Thomas, scowling fiercely, contemplated his flimsy sandals.

“Do I take it that you’ve decided to change your decor to emulate Olympus?” John asked as he and Isis retreated to her private apartment.

“Not yet.” She seated herself on the well-stuffed couch and gestured to him to help himself to wine and sweetmeats. “I’ve dressed my girls as assorted goddesses to see if there’s enough interest to justify all the expense of redecoration. It’s going to be costly, what with a certain amount of gilding and a few appropriate busts and statues and perhaps even a mosaic or two.”

“When you told me you were contemplating a religious theme I thought you had in mind something Christian.”

“I did. Almost everyone in Constantinople’s thinking about heaven right now. So it occurred to me it might be a popular theme. Then I thought, no, Zeus is a much more interesting deity from my point of view. Very lusty, for a start. Fortuna must have sent you, because I was going to ask Thomas to convey a message when he returned home.”

Home. The word leapt out at John. It had not occurred to him that his house was serving as a temporary home to Thomas and Europa. The notion seemed vaguely unsettling, akin to the queasiness he always felt when crossing deep water. “Has one of your girls heard something useful to my investigation?”

“Not yet, I fear. Rather I have a question for you, concerning a man called Aristotle of Athens.”

John arched his eyebrows. “Fortuna has indeed smiled on you, Isis. I spoke to him not long ago.”

“Excellent! As I mentioned, if I redecorate I’ll be in the market for appropriate statuary and busts. Well, it so happened that during a recent visit one of my girls’ regular clients mentioned he’d just purchased an antique marble of Aphrodite in the embrace of Adonis from this Aristotle at a very reasonable price, given its apparent age and the quality of the workmanship.”

“Apparent age?”

Isis laughed. “Yes, it seems Aristotle has a fine trade in forged antiquities. The client, who seemed very knowledgeable, indicated the process involves burial of the statues for some time in pits well supplied with donkey urine and cow manure.”

John nodded. “He’s right. Aristotle’s garden is graced, if that’s the right description, with just such a pit. He claims he’s been collecting it because he’s planning to venture into tanning leather in due course. Manure would be easy enough to obtain. I’d heard tales about him burying a body in the middle of the night. Now I see there is a much less sinister explanation than this might suggest. However, why would your patron mention this strange information?”

“You may well ask, John. I certainly did, and in questioning my girl discovered it was not so much the fellow boasting about his knowledge or using it as an indication he could afford artifacts of that sort, but rather the fact that this statue he purchased had inspired him. He wished for its pose to be recreated in the flesh for his enjoyment.”

“Surely not an uncommon request in a house dedicated to Aphrodite?”

“True enough. However, it transpired that the immortals were performing an act you won’t see on public display among the sculptures decorating city squares or the baths or gymnasium. That being the case, Aristotle sounds like a man who deals in exactly the kind of works I may need, forged or not. So what I want to know, John, is where can I find him?”