“Not so! That was nothing more than his own death fit,” remarked a new arrival knowledgeably. “That’s all it is. Sometimes people stricken with the plague have hallucinations and become quite crazed. My physician mentioned this very thing to me only yesterday and he has treated the emperor on occasion, so his word is hardly to be doubted.”
The pompous speaker nudged the demon with the toe of his boot.
Bringing it immediately back to life.
The cloaked figure leapt to its feet, flourishing the dead woman’s gold necklaces.
“You call me a demon?” the creature shouted at the horrified crowd. “Don’t you believe the dead will rise on the day of the resurrection? Which of you would refuse to dance with your savior on that glorious day? You can say I’m a fool for reminding you of your sins, but you’d do better to look around the city and tremble at the warning being given. I say, the faster off to bed, the sooner the blessed morning arrives. Today buboes, tomorrow the heavenly banquet!”
***
“Peter. I found some dill!” Hypatia called as she pattered lightly upstairs.
There was no answer. The house was silent.
The fire in the kitchen brazier was almost extinguished. Peter’s well-scrubbed pots and cooking utensils lay undisturbed on their shelf. None of the comfortingly familiar smells of a cooking meal hung in the air. A neatly jointed chicken sitting on a platter on the kitchen table was the only sign Peter had been at work.
By now the fowl should have been boiling in a pot for John’s simple evening meal. Instead, it provided a feast for a swarm of flies.
“Peter!” she called again.
There was still no reply.
A pause for thought and then the young woman ran along the hallway and upstairs to the third floor to pound on the closed door of Peter’s room.
“Peter! Are you all right?”
The answer came in a wavering voice.
“Yes, Hypatia, I am all right, for I am in the Lord’s hands now. Tell the master I regret the inconvenience, but I don’t expect to emerge alive, and if any attempt is made to break the door down, I intend to jump out of the window.”
Chapter Fourteen
John pounded again on the door to Peter’s room.
The sound echoed in the hallway, but Peter did not respond.
Even in his own home, the Lord Chamberlain was being thwarted. It was as if he had succumbed to the plague and unknowingly entered a dreary afterlife where the pagan dead knocked forever at doors that refused to open.
“Peter! Answer me! I order it!”
A pause and then a reply. “Master, forgive me. I’m waiting to die. Everyone must stay away. I would not want my last act in this world to be to give you all the plague.”
Hypatia, standing behind John, leaned forward to address the door. “Gaius told me it was all a matter of chance! Come out right now, Peter. The Lord Chamberlain’s has been tramping about the city all day on your account and it’s getting late. Do you want to leave this world disobeying the master’s orders?”
“Please, master, don’t order me to open the door,” Peter replied with a hoarse sob.
Again the sound of knocking echoed in the hallway.
“There’s someone at the house door,” Hypatia said and ran downstairs.
John remained outside Peter’s room. He heard the clatter of Hypatia’s footfalls on the steep wooden stairway to the second floor, followed by their more muted sound as she went down the final set of stairs into the atrium.
“Peter, we can’t help you if you won’t let us in,” John said quietly.
There was no answer.
John turned away.
Hypatia met him before he reached the kitchen.
“Master, there’s a pair of impertinent vagabonds outside. They claim they know you. One of them’s armed. I locked the door.”
John’s hand went to the blade at his belt. “I will attend to it, Hypatia.”
Had he been summoned to the emperor? Or had his frequent comings and goings been observed by someone who hoped to find a poorly guarded house and a naive servant who would allow them to enter?
Hurrying to the atrium, he threw open the house door.
“Lord Chamberlain!” declared his unexpected visitor. “I thought I would call on you since I find myself in the city.”
The man’s Greek was heavily accented, the booming voice familiar. The speaker was a burly fellow with long red hair and a ginger mustache. His scuffed leather boots and dust-covered clothing attested to a long journey. He was indeed armed, but the broad smile on his face indicated good will rather than evil intent.
Even though his presence was improbable, John recognized him instantly.
“Thomas! I never expected you to set foot in Constantinople again!”
Before John could say more, his second visitor stepped into view.
A slim young woman with dark eyes and an exquisite face.
Europa, the daughter John had not seen for seven years.
John gestured them inside wordlessly.
Europa hugged him awkwardly.
“Thomas,” John said over her shoulder, “you know I don’t allow anyone to carry weapons in my house. Leave your sword by the door.”
“I know we’ve taken you by surprise, father, but it was rather a good jest, wasn’t it?” Europa giggled, stepping back.
John smiled down at her. “So it was, Europa.”
When John had last seen his daughter, the only time he had ever met her, Europa was still a girl. Now her figure was the slightest bit fuller, her features thinned and sharpened, her demeanor more adult. She had become a woman. He couldn’t help looking back at the door.
“Mother will be here shortly,” Europa said, as if reading his thoughts.
John nodded. “I see.”
He found himself in the kitchen with his visitors, unable to remember having climbed the stairs.
Hypatia poured wine and set out honey cakes, all the while peering curiously at the strangers until John, tersely, explained who they were. She left, with obvious reluctance, to work in the garden.
For a while the three of them sat and stared at each other, sipping wine.
Suddenly Thomas set down his cup and laughed.
“Well, John, here we are again. Doesn’t seem that long ago since we said farewell, does it?”
“Indeed not,” John replied. He did not add that their visit was unwelcome in one sense. He did not want his daughter and her mother living in the city. Powerful men made inviting targets. In his deliberately solitary life, John could employ a staff of only two servants, could both keep a house and walk in the streets unguarded. But how could he ask Europa and Cornelia to also live in such a dangerous manner?
“Many things must have changed since then, but I have to say these honey cakes are as good as I remember,” Thomas said. “Either your cantankerous old servant is still with you, or he taught his successor how to make them.”
Europa brushed a crumb from Thomas’ ginger mustache. “Mother’s not far away. A few hours’ ride at most. She’s still at the inn where we were staying.”
“The last time I saw you, you were bound for Crete, Europa. How long have you been living on my doorstep?”
“Not long.” Thomas took a swig from his cup and grimaced. “I must have neglected to finish that last cup of ghastly wine when I was here last. My thanks for saving it for me all these years.”
“Where have you been all this time?” John looked toward Europa, but again it was Thomas who answered.
“It’s more a question of where haven’t I been? Egypt, Gaul, Germania, living by sharp wits and a sharper blade.”
“And you, Europa?”
“Mother and I remained in Crete for a while and then rejoined the troupe. We were traveling with them until quite recently.” She glanced at Thomas, who appeared only too eager to take up her story.
“As I said, John, I found myself in Egypt. It was some months ago, in Pelusium, to be precise. Visiting the baths, I heard much talk about recently arrived entertainers, said to include a pair of bull-leapers in the ancient tradition. Could it possibly be the friends I’d last seen some years ago in Crete, I asked myself. After all, you don’t stumble over bull-leapers every day.”