“I rescued it and I shall grill it,” John replied. “I don’t know if you’ll feel like eating? Soup perhaps?”
The elderly servant looked horrified. “But master, it is not fitting for you to cook or wait on me!”
John pointed out he had cooked his own meals many times in his days as a mercenary and there was nobody else to care for Peter with Cornelia away.
“If I may suggest it, master, would it not be possible for Hypatia to return until I get back on my feet? If someone else must work at my brazier, well, admittedly she over-spices the food but after all, she is from Egypt. She is familiar with the household. We’ve known each other a long time, and she takes directions well.”
John concealed a smile. Peter had chosen the person he already had in mind, a young woman who had worked in the household in years past. Actually, not quite so young now, he reminded himself. In her mid-thirties. Since leaving John’s employ, she had been working in the imperial gardens. “An excellent choice, Peter. I’m certain it can be arranged.”
“Thank you, master,” Peter closed his eyes. “I hope she will not be too irritated with me for not cultivating her herb beds as well as I should. I am afraid our garden is not as beautiful as it was when she looked after it.”
“It will soon revive. Now you should worry about your own health. Try to rest.”
John went back to his study.
It did not occur to him that anyone might think it odd for a high official to be caring for a servant. Over the years Peter had become part of his family. He was certain Hypatia would agree to help.
If only his investigation could be resolved so easily.
Chapter Eight
John did his best to ponder the task Justinian had set before him but he was preoccupied with other matters. He ended up wandering the house, hoping he would not be summoned by the emperor, and looking in on the sleeping Peter.
Late in the afternoon he opened his eyes, realized he had fallen asleep at his desk, and went to the kitchen to prepare the swordfish Peter had purchased.
Though not as tasty as it would have been had Peter been able to cook, the meal was passable. Unlike many men in his position John knew how to clean and braise a fish. Peter could barely keep his eyes open. He dozed off after a few bites and several slurred compliments on John’s culinary skills.
When he was certain Peter was sleeping soundly John left the house to look for Hypatia in the palace gardens. Hours later, as sunset approached and golden-red light gilded the western sides of trees and bushes, he wondered if he had begun his search too late in the day. The gardens were extensive. They sloped down to the sea on terraces, a vast, bewildering array of vegetation-lawns, shrubbery, copses, meadows, beds of flowers and herbs-strewn with fountains, decorative buildings, covered walkways, benches, and statuary.
Had he been overly optimistic in expecting to find Hypatia tending to one of the larger flowerbeds now in full bloom? Another hour and it would be as dark as despair.
One more place to look and then he must return home. He passed under a low archway and entered an enclosed garden that had once contained a sunken pool. His then future son-in-law Thomas had stumbled into the pool while creeping around the grounds one night years earlier. Thomas had arrived in Constantinople claiming to be a knight from Bretania. John had been inclined to consider him a fraud. He would never have imagined the big barbaric redhead settling down to the life of an estate manager or fathering John’s grandchild. Thinking of Thomas made him think of Europa and Cornelia. He sighed. Waiting for news was like waiting to go into battle, except others were fighting it and he could only observe from a distance.
As John grew older he no longer saw places simply as they were, but also as they had been, as he had seen them through younger eyes, as settings for the events of his life.
The original ornamental pool and fountain were gone, replaced by graveled walkways radiating away from a circular plot in which clipped yews reproduced in miniature the landmarks of the city. A dark-leafed Great Church grew next to a recreated Hippodrome, while nearby the open Chalke Gate of the palace was just tall enough to admit a column of marching rabbits if such a squad had decided to trample through the box-edged beds edging the walkways.
White and purple-red poppies filled the beds, each mass of blooms growing round a yew in a pottery container. Each tree was trained into the shape of an animal. Some were familiar denizens of this world, others had stepped down through the centuries from mythological days to amaze and delight visitors. A bear, a horse, a centaur, a gryphon were among them. The reddish light crept in among the dark shapes, adding long shadows to the advancing twilight.
The garden had been another of Theodora’s whims.
Hypatia often worked here and John thought he might find her trimming stray twigs, bringing order to the green menagerie.
She was not there.
John began to walk around the perimeter of the enclosed garden, then stopped. He heard rustling in the foliage, yet saw no one.
He looked around.
There. Crouched behind a plane tree at the edge of the garden. A diminutive figure in green. A triangular, frightened face peeked around the trunk.
“Come here,” he ordered.
The girl advanced slowly, hands to mouth, shoulders hunched, as if expecting a beating. She stood hardly as high as John’s chest. He found himself looking what seemed a long way down at the top of her auburn hair.
“Excellency?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I was just walking, excellency.”
John studied the girl. He recognized her. “Kuria.”
She looked at him in amazement. “You know my name?”
“Naturally. You are one of Theodora’s closest personal attendants. Have you seen the gardener Hypatia?”
Kuria shook her head and suddenly burst into tears. “Nobody has said a word to me since yesterday,” she sobbed. “Where am I to go now my mistress is dead?”
“A new post will be found for you,” John reassured her.
“Oh, but I think not,” she replied with a flash of venom that surprised him. “I did not want to work for the empress. She only ordered me to serve her because I was from the brothel. She rescued me, she said. She used me as an example of her good works. There will be no other post here for such as me.” She snuffled and wiped her pug nose with the back of her hand. “Begging your pardon for saying so, excellency.”
It was probably true, John thought. Theodora had taken delight in pointing out her efforts to reform such women, especially when she granted an audience to a representative of a patrician family, someone she could horrify with lurid details. The girl was right. No one at court would employ her. The girl’s grief for herself had overcome her caution, for otherwise she would not have dared to speak to an official in such a fashion.
John decided to abandon his search for Hypatia. Perhaps fate was prodding him to begin the task he had been delaying. In which case, Kuria might well know something useful.
The late empress’ attendant followed him obediently to a marble seat positioned to give a good view of the poppy garden.
Kuria confirmed she had attended the empress during her final days. He asked her about Theodora’s visitors at that time. Had anyone been to the sickroom frequently?
Kuria’s face bunched in concentration. “There was the fat physician, and an old churchman. They both visited every day. The emperor only left the room when they were there. Oh, excellency…” Her voice cracked and tears flowed afresh. “He was devoted to her. He insisted on feeding her himself, though she ate so little and rarely kept it down.”
The comment suggested a possibility. “Who brought the empress her meals?”