Felix nodded. “Couldn’t say that for Antonina. Not that I’ve seen her recently. Although I did go-” He broke off and hid his face in his wine cup.
“You went where?”
“Oh, nothing. My mind’s wandering.” He looked thoughtful. “Have you met the Persian emissary, John? I was told he traveled to Constantinople with Belisarius. Didn’t your friend Haik come here with Belisarius? Do you think he knew the emissary?”
“If so he never mentioned it. But then there seems to have been a lot left unsaid.”
Chapter Thirty
January 16, 532
John ran through the palace gardens. The covered walkway he followed veered wildly, first one direction then another. When he looked back he couldn’t see his pursuers. He could hear the thud of boots. Or was it hooves? Rhythmic, relentless.
He needed to reach the safety of the ship but he had somehow lost his way. He didn’t recognize this part of the palace grounds. He could see nothing but thick, dark vegetation, like a forest. How had he got here?
Who or what was chasing him?
The walkway emerged from the forest onto a vast plain. John peered around, hoping to spot a familiar landmark. Red twilight spilled across a rock strewn landscape. Where was the sea? Where was the Great Palace?
John saw only a charred ruin. Did nothing else remain? Had the fires spread so far?
The clamor of pursuit grew louder.
John ducked under a crumbling archway.
And found himself in a windowless room. The wooden door was shut, although he didn’t recall closing it. A familiar figure confronted him.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Haik said.
“Haik! Thanks to Mithra! I thought you were dead.”
“Hardly. I must have stayed too long at the baths. We were detained by the Persians, you see.”
“The Persians? You mean the Persian emissary?”
There was an explosive pounding at the door.
“They’re here!” Haik cried. “They’re here!” His voice rose to an inhuman howl.
His eyes turned red and his flesh began to melt.
The knocking at the door continued, accompanied now by shouts. “Chamberlain! Chamberlain!”
John was suddenly aware that he was lying in his own bed. For an instant he was paralyzed, suspended between nightmare and reality. Then he forced himself awake.
What hour was it? The oil lamp beside the bed guttered as he threw off his blanket.
The pounding continued. “Chamberlain! Can you hear me?”
He recognized the voice of Pompeius. His suspicion was conferred by the gust of stale wine breath that hit him in the face when he yanked open the door. The fat man was frantic as well as drunk. “Dead! I was afraid of it! Hurry! It’s Julianna!”
“Julianna? Dead?”
“No. You. I thought you were dead. I kept knocking. You wouldn’t answer. Julianna’s ill. Poisoned, like that house guest of yours. Must be poison. She’s in her room. Come quickly.” Pompeius lumbered off, unsteadily.
John glanced around for his clothes, half expecting to see Haik, but the phantom had gone back to wherever dreams go. It was said the gods spoke to men in dreams. Had some kindly deity sent him the solution to the murders of Haik and the faction members? If so, he couldn’t remember. As he pulled his dalmatic on over a light tunic he tried to hold onto the vision. It was like trying to grasp sea mists at sunrise.
He rushed after Pompeius and caught him at the entrance to the suite of rooms the guests were occupied. “Have you summoned a physician?”
“Yes. Of course. Rusticus is staying at the palace. One of the excubitors agreed to go for him. I think, at first, he thought it was some sort of ruse. But I…I…well….it’s your house…I thought you should- ”
“Where is she?”
“In her room.”
“But I’m not a physician or a clergyman. It wouldn’t be appropriate.” John well knew that in aristocratic circles the women’s quarters were strictly off-limits to men. In this case, those quarters were the single room Julianna was staying in. Even if Pompeius were too intoxicated to take offense, others might.
Pompeius stared at John glassy eyed. “What? Not appropriate? Oh…Oh…I see. No. It’s fine. As Hypatius agreed. Because of your….um….your status.”
John felt a sudden rush of heat to his face. He managed to control his voice. “I see. Very well. I have no antidotes for poison though.”
By the time he reached Julianna’s bedside his anger was under control.
Hypatius, hovering nearby, snapped at his brother. “It’s about time. I was afraid Bacchus had detained you or you’d fallen asleep under a table.”
John leaned over the girl. Her face was shockingly pale and her breathing shallow but her eyes were open and alert. “I’m fine.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I just felt dizzy. It’s nothing to worry about. Please reassure my father and my uncle.”
“She collapsed,” Hypatius said. “The crash woke me up. When I got her she was crumpled up on the floor. You can imagine what I was thinking, after what…just happened.”
John wondered if she had been injured during her confrontation with the street thugs, or had inhaled smoke while out in the city. Probably the exertion and worry of recent days had finally caught up. He knew he should alert Hypatius to his daughter’s secretive comings and goings. Julianna knew it too. The gaze she fixed on him clearly demanded that he say nothing.
He was reminded again of Cornelia. She had been strong-willed too.
“I’m not a physician,” he said. “but it doesn’t look to me as if she’s been poisoned. The past few days have been too exciting for her. That’s all it is.”
“Exciting? It’s not very exciting here, is it?” Pompeius shook his head. “More likely she’s taken a chill from spending all her time out in your garden.”
“Quite possibly.” As John straightened up the white haired physician Rusticus entered in his usual flurry of words.
“Apologies, sirs. Your guard had to drag me out the barracks. Been there half the night. Belisarius got into a tussle in the streets. I’ve been treating wounds that would made Galen weep to see them.” He pulled a stool up to Julianna’s bedside. “Fainted, you say?”
“That’s right,” Hypatius confirmed. “Fell down as if she were poisoned.”
Rusticus took hold of the girl’s chin and turned her face to him. “Look this way, child. Show me your tongue. The lips aren’t blue.”
“I’m fine,” Julianna protested weakly. “I just feel a bit sick.”
“You think you’re sick, do you?” Rusticus rambled on. “Be glad both your leg bones aren’t protruding from your skin. You’d be sick then. And that wasn’t the worst.” He placed a hand on her abdomen. “Breath now. There, you can breath. If you’d been hit with a brick, it might be a different story. Home-made weapons are the worst. Some untrained ruffian with a splintered board in his hands or a jagged shard of pottery isn’t as likely to inflict a wound as a trained soldier with a proper sword or spear. Oh, but when he does he makes a nasty wound indeed. At least a well honed blade, precisely placed, will kill you on the spot. A plank full of rusty nails just rips your guts open. Tortures you for days before putting you out of your misery.”
“Are you sure she’s all right, Rusticus?” demanded Hypatius.
“Fine. Fine. A touch of woman’s complaint most likely.” The physician struggled up off the stool. “I can give her something for it.”
“I don’t need anything.” Julianna’s voice sounded slightly stronger.
“You’ll take what Rusticus thinks best,” said Hypatius. “I don’t want you visiting Antonina for any of her evil concoctions.”
Rusticus shuffled to the door, followed by Hypatius and Pompeius. John took a last glance around the room. The family had not had time to bring much from their homes. He noticed a wooden chest, probably filled with clothes. On a marble topped table a tiny, painted horse sat surrounded by perfume bottles and fancy enamelled containers of the sort that might hold unguents and make-up.