Thinking about her assistance made him wince. He should have been able to save himself. He was on his guard now, determined not to be surprised again. He didn’t trust Justinian’s whims. The emperor’s mood changed hour by hour. It worried him leaving Anastasia alone at his house even if she was the late empress’ sister so she had promised to spend the afternoon safely at the palace.
Why did she remain by his side? A man she had known for a couple of weeks? Love? The sheer excitement? Theodora’s sister wouldn’t be harmed, in the end, would she? How much power did the younger sister of a deceased empress possess really? It might well benefit her to be married to a leading commander for Justinian’s new supreme general, Germanus, supposing the emperor’s cousin did replace Belisarius as everyone at the palace expected. A husband of high military position would enhance what standing she gained through wealth and family connections. If Germanus succeeded Justinian as emperor Felix might well take over Germanus’ position. And who knows, Germanus might die…
Although only a short walk from the palace Felix was day dreaming about, the area where the Jingler lived might have been in a different world. A drifting miasma of smoke from the forges in the Copper Quarter dimmed the sun and the rickety tenements, blackened by years of soot, leaned tiredly against one another. Pedestrians trudged along as if employed in transporting the weight of the world. Even the feral dogs looked discouraged.
Felix told himself it was just his imagination.
He scratched idly at the back of his hand.
Those cursed red bumps. Was he falling ill? Well, a few spots on his hands and face were the least of his problems.
He went up the stairs to the Jingler’s rooms. The stuffy air inside the building was hotter than outside. It smelled of boiled fish and onions and mildew. By the time he reached the top floor he was breathing hard and wishing he didn’t need to inhale at all. His head had begun to throb. He touched the lump under his hair and winced.
Catching his breath and trying to put the pain out of his mind, he rapped at the Jingler’s door. To his shock it swung open.
In the middle of the cluttered room, Julian was hanging by his neck from a rope. The lifeless body, twisting slowly, jingled a faint dirge.
Felix stared.
The pounding in his head was worse and there was a roaring in his ears.
He scanned the hallway. It was empty.
A fat fly buzzed out of the room straight at his face. He slapped it away.
There was no sound except for the awful jingling of Julian’s useless charms and amulets. The poor man’s eyes were bulging as if he was surprised all his magick had failed him.
The foul stench of old cooking was suddenly overpowering. Felix gagged and started down the stairs moving as quickly as possible without making a racket.
He guessed the Jingler hadn’t been dead for long. His killers might be lying in wait.
He reached the street without incident, then thought of Anastasia. She was involved in this business almost as deeply as the Jingler had been. For all Felix knew whoever had killed the Jingler had gone straight to Felix’s house. Murderers and those who gave them orders didn’t necessarily care what one’s position at court might be.
Felix broke into a run.
As he neared the archway that led to the entrance to his house he saw Anastasia walking along the colonnade.
He sprinted across the Mese and grabbed her arm, just as she was about to pass through the archway.
She spun around, breaking his grasp. Her eyes blazed with fury, her fists were clenched. Then she recognized her assailant and her snarl turned into a puzzled smile. “Felix! What do you think you’re doing?”
He bent down. He saw that the dusting of ashes he had left under the archway-barely noticeable given the dirt and litter in the streets-had been disturbed, and not by only a single pair of feet.
“It looks like the whole Army of the East has been through here,” he growled.
He led Anastasia around the corner, down a side street, and ventured a furtive glance down the alley leading past the back of his house. “There’s a guard at the gate. Narses must be back.”
“You didn’t extend them a dinner invitation, I take it.”
He laughed grimly. “What’s more, the Jingler’s dead. Hanged.”
They moved away as quickly as possible without drawing attention.
“You’re too closely involved with me,” Felix said. “Whoever killed the Jingler might want you out of the way too. You have a safe place to stay. Go back to the palace and don’t come out again. Better yet, leave the city. You’ve told me you prefer your country estates.”
She took his face between her hands, pulled his head down, and kissed him. “Do you imagine I’d abandon you, foolish bear?” She pulled a ring off her finger and pressed it into his hand. “Go to the Hippodrome and ask for Maria, the widow of the bear-keeper.”
Felix turned the ring over in his hand. It was a crude copper circle holding a bit of green cut glass. Hardly fit jewelry for an aristocrat.
“I’ve know Maria since childhood,” Anastasia continued. “Theodora, Comita, and I grew up among circus performers. When you show her the ring, she’ll know I sent you. She’ll hide you.”
“But for how long?”
“Long enough for me to speak to Justinian again.”
“You don’t really think you can keep persuading him I’m not guilty do you? Without proof?”
“There will be proof soon enough. The former Lord Chamberlain will surely return to assist you once he receives your letter.”
“My letter?”
“The letter I urged you to write but you wouldn’t. I’ve written it for you. Hurry up now. Get yourself to the Hippodrome. I have things to do.”
She gave him a push, as if he were a balky child. He took several steps and when he turned to speak to her she was already walking briskly off in the opposite direction.
Chapter Forty-three
The primary objective in a battle was to outlive your opponent. At a given moment you might not be able to press the attack, might be forced into retreat, but as long as you stayed alive the fight could be renewed and won later. Which was why, Felix told himself, he had again taken orders from a woman.
That was the trouble with serving at the palace. You were always taking orders from women and perfumed courtiers and cowardly bureaucrats.
Moving like a sleepwalker, Felix shivered as he passed from the glaring sunlight into the shadowed concourse at the front of the Hippodrome. Not that the heat was much diminished inside, but rather he immediately saw in his imagination the hanged man by the spina, slowly twisting at the end of the rope, and then the man with the demolished face became the Jingler, his magickal charms chinking mournfully.
Then he saw Porphyrius the great charioteer looming above him, staring down, whip in hand.
This was not a mirage. It was the larger-than-life bronze statue that lorded it over the concourse.
His hand went to the chains around his neck. Were his own protective tokens as useless as the Jingler’s had proved to be?
He opened his other hand to see the crude ring he carried, it being too small to fit his thick fingers. He was to entrust his safety to a bear-keeper’s widow? A total stranger? A disreputable associate of circus performers?
“Look where you’re going!” The man Felix had blundered into, a stable worker to judge by the stains on his tunic and his general air, gave him a shove.
The stable worker’s companion made a disgusted noise. “He’s not even looking where he’s going. Must be demented!”
Yes, Felix thought, he was demented if he was thinking about consigning his life to this Maria. Already Narses might have grown tired of waiting and begun to detail men to scour the city. Knowing Felix’s proclivity for racing, the Hippodrome would be the first place he’d search, wouldn’t it?