“I had no choice. When Felix arrived with excubitors I realized he wasn’t visiting to arrest my cook, even if he does habitually burn the fish.” He forced a bleak smile.
“Flight always gives the appearance of guilt.”
“The excubitors were slow in approaching the house and made too much noise. Felix was intentionally warning me, giving me time to get away.”
“You don’t know why he was ordered to arrest you?”
“What does it matter? If Felix considered it prudent for me to escape, I wasn’t going to question his judgment. Every day someone vanishes. If I’d lingered to ask what the charges were I’d be dead by now.”
John couldn’t argue with that.
Anatolius was leaning back against the font’s inner wall. Light hit the top of his head, accentuating his gray hair. The shadows falling across his face deeply sculpted each incipient wrinkle in his tired, sagging features. John suspected he was seeing what Anatolius would look like as an old man.
Provided he reached old age.
John was not certain he could offer any useful counsel. He recounted what Justinian had told him about the poem found in Kuria’s room.
Anatolius’ grim laugh reverberated in the dry basin. “The follies of our youth come back to haunt us! That cursed poem! Written so long ago and now come to collect payment!”
“It was more than foolish of you to give it to Theodora’s lady-in-waiting.”
“Kuria wasn’t a lady-in-waiting when I first met her, John. Far from it. She was one of Isis’ girls. It’s touching she kept that little scribble so long.”
For a few heartbeats John could say nothing. He remembered what Isis had told him about Kuria’s frequent visitor. Had Isis got it wrong? Had it been Anatolius, not Felix, who had sought Kuria out years earlier?
In response to John’s query Anatolius hung his head. “Yes, for a time I was obsessed with the girl.”
If Anatolius had not been seeing Kuria recently-as Justinian and everyone involved had inferred from her possession of the poem-then he could not have convinced her to poison Theodora to further his ambitions. Ambitions that had also merely been inferred from his involvement with the Cappadocian, and through him, Germanus.
The entire complicated edifice of his friend’s guilt collapsed.
“When did you last see Kuria?”
“I don’t remember, exactly. It was a long time ago.”
“Not within the past few weeks?”
“Not for years. I never had reason to venture into Theodora’s part of the palace. I didn’t even know Kuria was living there.”
“Are you being truthful with me this time?”
“You know I’m always…yes. Yes. This time I am telling you the truth. Ask Kuria.”
“I wish I could. She’s been banished from the palace. Justinian has ordered her found.” John got to his feet. “I’ll escort you to him. We’ll explain the situation.”
“Why would he believe what I say if he’s convinced I conspired to murder his wife? I think not, John. I’d rather stay here.”
“You’ll only be safe here until Justinian loses patience.”
“That’s probably longer than I would have if I were in his clutches.”
“You’re probably right. I’ll try to find Kuria. Justinian might take her word if he comes to his senses sufficiently to remember how much Theodora trusted the girl.”
Chapter Fifty-seven
John was used to being out in the city at night. It held no fears for him. This night felt different. There was a sinister aspect to the shadows. He had the feeling if the sun were to suddenly rise dark forms would be revealed as something other than the familiar buildings and colonnades and monuments he knew during the daytime.
Where in this strange place could Kuria have gone?
When she spoke to John in the palace gardens she was terrified of being thrown out into the streets. Clearly she did not have a plan. If she finally had decided on a destination, who at court would know? What friends would she have had at the palace?
Vesta, John thought. The young women had served Theodora together. Perhaps Kuria had confided in Vesta.
John’s house was all but on his way to the womens’ quarters. He couldn’t pass nearby without checking on Peter, although there was nothing he could do for him, nor, he remembered with a pang, was there anything he could do about finding Cornelia at present.
As he came around the side of the barracks opposite the house he passed a portly, youngish man dressed in the elaborate robes of the clergy.
Why would he be out at this hour unless…
A haggard-looking Hypatia greeted John at the door. “The physician said there was nothing to do but send for a clergyman,” she said. Her voice sounded strained but calm. Resigned. Her shoulders were slumped, her normally lively eyes dull.
“Peter is still alive?”
“He woke before the physician got here. It seems it is only a matter of time. He’s asleep now. The physician said when he slept again, he would not wake up.”
John made no effort to step inside. “I am likely to be away all night, Hypatia. Anatolius is under suspicion. He’s taken sanctuary in the Great Church.”
“No,” Hypatia said “Oh, no.” Her words came out in a choked whisper, as if she had found her ability to express grief exhausted.
“You understand, I would stay with Peter but Anatolius needs my help.”
“If you want to save Anatolius, why don’t you accuse Antonina of the murder? She’s an evil woman. How many poisonings has she got away with? Or you could accuse someone else who has escaped justice.”
“I could not lie,” John said stiffly. “Especially with a person’s life at stake.”
“But what about Anatolius? Isn’t his life at stake?”
Her vehemence surprised John. Did she harbor some affection for Anatolius so long after he had been trying to attract her without apparent success?
“I will see that Anatolius comes to no harm without making a liar of myself, Hypatia.”
Her eyes suddenly came alive. “Better that Anatolius die than you should say something that isn’t true. For that matter, you would see an old man go to his grave agonizing over your soul-berating himself that he could not save you from the fires of hell-rather than uttering a few comforting words that would make you a liar.”
“You were eavesdropping on our conversation!”
“Not intentionally. I simply waited outside Peter’s door. I couldn’t help hearing what he said. You could have pretended to agree to his final request. After his lifetime of loyalty, what would it have cost you? But, no. You have to adhere to your principles. You always have to be superior, better than other men. And why is that, because you know you aren’t really-”
“That’s enough! I know you are distraught, Hypatia, but you have forgotten your position. I regret I will not be able to employ you after this outburst.”
Hypatia drew herself up and looked John in the face. A smile trembled on her lips. “Would you have me depart immediately then and leave my dying husband unattended?”
“Husband?”
“Yes. The clergyman who visited Peter married us.”
Chapter Fifty-eight
A marriage between Hypatia and the gravely ill Peter was absurd. Even if he were not dying, Peter was twice Hypatia’s age, but John had no time to dwell on the news.
He brushed by the guards at the entrance to Joannina’s quarters. Recognizing the Lord Chamberlain, they stood aside.
Anastasius did not.
The tall, skinny young man appeared from an inner chamber, straightening his tunic, black hair rumpled. “What do you think you’re doing harassing us in the middle of the night?” he shouted. “We’ve had enough of this!”
“I am here on the emperor’s business.”
The young man clenched his fists.
“Anastasius! Stop!” Joannina, emerging from their room, placed a restraining hand on his arm. “What do you want at this hour, Lord Chamberlain?”