He sent the guard in the atrium to take his post. The man gave him and Julianna a curious look as they went out but Felix offered no explanation.
The cold outside made him catch his breath. The rising sun turned ice-filled ruts in the muddy yard outside the stables into an orange embroidery. Ice-glazed marble walkways and frost glistened on grass and shrubbery.
Felix was happy to enter the Daphne Palace, which wasn’t much warmer. The silentiaries hardly glanced at Julianna. They didn’t seem concerned that she’d brought a companion.
“You’re a frequent visitor,” Felix observed.
Julianna nodded and led him along a bewildering series of hallways. He half expected to see the Eros he’d treated so cruelly during his previous visit but no one else was about at this early hour.
By the time they reached the tall double doors at the entrance to Antonina’s quarters, Felix was breathing hard, not the result of exertion but rather in anticipation of seeing Antonina again.
A servant answered their knock.
“Eugenius,” said Julianna, “I have brought a visitor to see Antonina.”
The servant ushered the two into a cramped vestibule where more silentiaries stood shoulder to shoulder with life-sized Greek sculptures. Another set of doors opened onto a warm, humid atrium graced by potted plants.
Felix felt his heart pounding. He glanced around, expecting Antonina to appear. How would she receive him?
He followed Julianna past low hanging palm fronds and into a room filled with cushion-strewn furniture. Frescoed seascapes covered the walls. Three golden cherubs flew above painted waves in an ascending line. Tables and alcoves displayed a welter of enameled boxes, ivory figurines, and elaborate glass vessels.
“Don’t look so surprised, Felix. A lady of the court is bound to accumulate expensive gifts and it’s only polite to display them.”
Felix realized he must have looked as awestruck as a peasant on his first visit to the capital.
The air felt warmer than in the atrium and heavy with unidentifiable scents, a mingling of perfumes, spices, and strange herbs. His breath caught at the sight of Antonina. No, only a small marble statue. He spotted at least two larger than life bronze busts.
Julianna tugged at his hand, leading him deeper into Antonina’s abode, down a short hallway, and then into a room lined with shelves crammed with bottles and stoppered clay pots. A pan steamed on a brazier and dried herbs hung from the ceiling.
Finally, he saw her. She stood at a marble table, working a mortar and pestle. She looked up, pushing a loose strand of hair away from her eyes. Beads of perspiration glistened on her forehead.
“Felix,” she said.
Was she surprised to see him? Happy? Annoyed? To his dismay, her tone conveyed absolutely nothing.
She wore a plain silk tunica, almost immodest. Her pale hair dangled to her shoulders in disarray. He could make out faint wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.
“I needed to see you,” Julianna said. “Felix agreed to accompany me, for safety.”
Antonina put down the pestle. “Very wise. I’ve nearly finished the charm I promised you. Everyone at court wants my services. I’ve already supplied Theodora with the magickal devices she requested, along with several philters.”
“It wouldn’t be necessary if the excubitor’s would fight like men,” Felix said. “Sharp blades are all the charms the emperor needs.”
“Spoken like a soldier,” Antonina replied, without looking at him. “Now, Julianna, if you will go and wait in my reception room, I can complete your charm.“
“Maybe a potion to make the excubitor’s fight is what’s wanted,” Julianna said.
“I’m not sure that’s within my power.”
“I thought we might visit for a time,” Julianna told her.
“Yes. Surely. But you must allow me to finish first.” She looked directly at Julianna.
Clearly she was avoiding looking at Felix.
“Antonina,” he blurted. “Did I somehow offend you the other night? If so…I…I apologize. I had to see you again.”
Felix realized she was staring straight past him, over his shoulder.
He turned his head.
In the doorway stood a rumpled and sleepy-eyed Belisarius.
Chapter Thirty-Five
At dawn John was walking through the palace gardens. He had been walking for a long time. He had lain in his bed thinking, unable to sleep, and finally decided he would think better on his feet whatever the hour. All the time he walked, a false ruby dawn illuminated the western sky, the glow from countless fires. Now the light from the rising sun had begun to drown out the lurid firelight.
The sun-John’s god, Lord Mithra.
Did Mithra care about the empire upon which he looked? An empire which had chosen a different god?
Shadows lingered beneath covered walkways amidst the trees and shrubbery and on the western sides of the buildings. John saw movement in the shadows. Something red passed through a patch of light then vanished into another shadow.
He narrowed his eyes. The red shape resolved itself into the red robed Persian emissary Bozorgmehr.
Why would he be out on the grounds so early, so far from the Daphne Palace?
Had he also been unable to sleep?
John followed him at a distance. To his surprise Bozorgmehr headed to the remains of the Chalke. Laborers had cleared a path through the rubble, at the same time piling debris so as to form a more or less unbroken wall where the gate had stood. The emissary nodded to the excubitors guarding the way out. They waved him past.
John waited until the man was out on the street before approaching the guards. “Do you know the man who just went by?”
“That was the Persian emissary, Chamberlain. I’m sorry, I can’t remember his name.”
“You have seen him before this morning?”
“Several times. Early mornings and evenings too.”
“He goes out by himself?”
“Always alone, yes.”
The guard’s partner looked down the street after the dwindling red figure. “Peculiar isn’t it? But the Persians are so fierce, I reckon they have no fear of anything they might find in our streets.”
John went after Bozorgmehr. He wondered what the guards said about his own solitary peregrinations.
The emissary walked straight down the Mese, necessarily keeping to the middle of the street since most of the structures had collapsed. John suspected he was going to the Hippodrome. Would Porphyrius be waiting there?
But he moved briskly by the high, arched entrance.
A short distance further on he abruptly swerved to the far side of the street.
John saw he was merely avoiding a group of men in front of a half destroyed tavern. By the look of them, they had managed to save much of the wine. Some staggered about, others sprawled on the street or leaned groggily against a column or a wall. They would be in no shape to engage in whatever kind of mayhem they had planned in their state of grandiose inebriation the night before.
Knots of people loitered quietly. No murderous crowds had formed yet. Even rioters needed to sleep. Later, it would be different. Perhaps that was why the emissary had left the palace so early. Or perhaps it was to avoid detection by anyone except the lowly guards at the gate.
By now the morning sun found its way down the Mese but with rubble and overturned carts everywhere it was a simple task for John to stay out of sight. His quarry did glance back over his shoulder from time to time but John thought that was probably more to insure that none of the ruffians milling around were approaching than any apprehension of being followed.
They came to the Praetorium and John saw that it was still burning. Flames licked above the remaining walls. The first fire must have been brought under control, but now the building was being consumed again. At least the macabre curtain of bodies had been removed from the portico.