Was Hypatius’ telling the truth? John had spent time as a captive of the Persians. He had been left with permanent physical wounds, though he preferred to believe that his spirit had not been wounded. “I can see that this must be very distressing to you,” he told Hypatius. “Justinian is a prudent man. He is ever alert for possible danger. He means you no harm.”
“Are you certain?” Hypatius’ tone was almost pleading.
“Knowing the emperor as I do, I am as certain as I can possibly be.” John omitted to add those who knew the emperor well understood better than others that his thoughts were utterly unreadable. “Are you certain you didn’t have a specific reason for taking refuge here? Were you approached by opponents of the emperor? Disgruntled faction members, perhaps?”
“No. I swear it. We came here practically as soon as the rumblings began.”
“That is supposing the unrest started spontaneously. There are those who believe it was planned. That the fire was intentionally set.”
“If we had assisted we would surely have remained outside of Justinian’s reach, in order to take advantage.”
“Perhaps you didn’t expect things to get so far out of control. You might have had second thoughts. Or you may be here to hide your complicity.”
Hypatius stared at John in distress. “How can we prove our innocence if the emperor has set his mind against us?”
“Justinian hasn’t set his mind against anyone. He’s trying to find out who is responsible. He would be grateful to anyone who helped lead him to the culprits.”
“If I had any information I would have shared it with you already. Do I strike you as a man who would try to withhold information from the emperor?” He held up a hand. It trembled like a leaf on an aspen tree. “Just the idea I might be under suspicion is torture to me, let alone….”
“The emperor has no intention of moving you to the dungeons.” As John uttered the assurance he couldn’t help think of the unfortunate old commander Sebastian, the commander who had failed in his duty at Saint Laurentius, being led away to a terrible fate.
Pompeius let out a gurgling laugh. “All of us at court know the dungeons are right beneath our feet.”
John shot a glare at him but the man had already buried his face in his wine cup again. “Did you know any of the faction members who were executed?”
Hypatius shook his head. “Why would we? A gang of low ruffians, weren’t they?”
John thought he saw an indication of surprise cross the man’s face. Was it because the question made no sense to him or because it did make sense but he had never expected John to ask? “Were they all low ruffians?”
“I…I’m sorry,” Hypatius said. “I don’t know why you would be questioning me about some criminals. I admit, it is most puzzling why Justinian didn’t just release those two from the church. Yet he removed three of his closest advisors. Are some anonymous Blue and Green more valuable to him than them?”
“Well of course,” interjected Pompeius, “since they were pulled safely off the gallows by the hand of God.”
It did not seem wise to John to reveal too much. And to question Hypatius further on the matter would be to stress the emperor’s interest in it. That was the sort of information a spy would find valuable. Not that he could imagine the two brothers as spies. “Where is Julianna?” he asked instead. “I wish to speak to her.”
“Justinian doesn’t suspect her too, does he? She’s just a girl!” Hypatius looked horrified.
Pompeius snorted. “She’s better off here, Hypatius. Except she should be kept under lock and key to keep her away from that slut with the evil eye, not to mention-”
Hypatius leapt out of his seat and flung his arm in a wide arc. Pompeius’ silver cup flew into the screen with a bang and clattered to the floor. Pompeius stared dumbly at his empty hand. “That’s enough of that! You’re disgusting!” Suddenly Hypatius did not sound like a frightened man.
Hypatius sat back down. “My apologies. It is true Julianna frequently visited Antonina. She is a friend of the empress, hardly a slut. Nevertheless, for a girl Julianna’s age to befriend a woman such as…that is to say…a woman so much older…”
“The excubitors will prevent her from leaving the house,” John pointed out.
Hypatius shook his head. “She’s probably in the garden. She’s spent all her time out there. Reading. She found several codices in her room. Or it could be she’s merely sulking. Being confined is even more vexing to Julianna than it is to me.”
John looked toward Pompeius. He seemed to have fallen asleep. He was motionless. One swollen hand hung limply over the side of the cushioned couch. A ragged snore offered the only evidence of life.
“My brother intends to spend this crisis in the company of Bacchus,” Hypatius said with a feeble smile. “He told me so and advised me to follow his example.”
“Bacchus makes for a most untrustworthy friend in times of trouble. Not that most of us haven’t sought him out at one time or another.”
“I hope you will assure Justinian that Pompeius offers no threat. In his present state he couldn’t find his way to the throne, or sit upright on it if he did.”
That appeared to be true, but John had been at court long enough not to trust appearances. The nephews of Anastasius had survived and apparently thrived for years. Perhaps it was because they were, in fact, too inept and lacking in ambition to threaten anyone. On the other hand, they might find it useful to give such an impression.
He exchanged a few more words with Hypatius, then went out into the garden, shutting the screens behind him. He glanced around at the unkempt vegetation, the yew trees growing up into the blue rectangle of sky in one corner, statuary peeking out from shaggy bushes. Not surprisingly he didn’t see Julianna right away.
He took a few steps down a partly overgrown path. On a bench at the end of the path lay a leather bound codex. He picked it up. Xenophon’s treatise on horsemanship. The house’s previous owner had been fond of horses.
There was a rustling in the bushes. Julianna pushed branches aside and stepped onto the path. Her face was flushed and she was breathing hard. “I’ve been clearing weeds away from a few of the little horse statues. The garden is full of them.”
She did not appear to be dressed for such work. Her robes were green silk, dyed in a hue so brilliant as to be almost iridescent. Again John was struck by her resemblance to Cornelia. He remembered with a pang how she had come to him, after a performance, flushed and nearly breathless. He had been able to feel the heat radiating from her slim, muscular body. It was not something he should be recalling under the circumstances. Wherever Cornelia might be, she was no longer a girl and John was….
He forced the memories away and realized Julianna was giving him a puzzled look.
“I have been to see the emperor,” he heard himself saying stiffly. “He is concerned with your safety. You must inform me immediately if anyone seeks to contact you.”
“Certainly, not that anyone is likely to get past the guards.” She wiped perspiration from her forehead with her sleeve. “Let me show you what I’ve found. Some of the sculptures are marvelous.”
“I regret I have some urgent business. Tomorrow perhaps you can show me. Please take care.”
He turned and went back down the path. “Take care,” he muttered to himself, as memories swirled around him insistently. “Take care.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
So far as those inside the palace could ascertain the violence of the previous night had tapered off. Now, as the Great Church, the senate house, and the baths smoldered, the angry masses congregated behind the ruins of the Chalke chanted slogans and shouted out demands. John left the palace grounds by an obscure southern gate.
Not everyone had taken to the streets. At the stables beneath the Hippodrome the regular business of the factions continued. John sought Porphyrius and had no trouble finding him. He was in a stall where a knot of young men had gathered, easily identifiable as charioteers by the leather wrappings around their legs. The great man was partly hidden by the flicking tail of a powerful bay whose hoof he had stooped down to examine. He straightened up and spoke to a worried groom. “He’ll be fine. He’s got hard hoofs, like me.”