Sunilda’s remark took John by surprise. He was speechless for an instant for he was a man seldom taken by surprise, and especially not by eight-year-old girls.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was staring. It must be because you remind me of someone, Sunilda,” he said.
“Almost everyone looks like someone else you know. I’ve noticed that myself. Who do you think I look like?”
They were strolling around Zeno’s gardens, Sunilda leading her companion confidently through the maze of paths. John had intended to take a walk and ponder the situation, made even more complicated by the apparent attempt on Poppaea’s life that afternoon, but Sunilda had come running after him, disrupting his thoughts.
“You look like another little girl I know.” He didn’t care to answer her question more fully.
Sunilda looked round at him with disturbingly wise eyes. “She must be a servant or some other ordinary person, Lord Chamberlain. If she was a great lady, you’d say more about her.”
“She isn’t ordinary but she’s not a great lady either.”
“What makes you think I look like her?”
One difficulty in talking with children, John thought, was that they genuinely expected answers whereas most of the adults he dealt with every day at court only pretended to expect them. “Your eyes are like hers. Very dark and large. Very pretty,” he said.
Sunilda smiled at his reply.
The sun had begun to set. A cool breeze carried the sharp smell of the sea to them, mingling with the light, delicate scent of flowers. The faint rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds returning to their nests had replaced the earlier humming of industrious bees.
“Don’t worry about Poppaea,” John went on. “The palace physician has been summoned. He’ll know what to do. She will soon be well enough to play with you again.”
“You shouldn’t be sad about my brother, Lord Chamberlain,” Sunilda replied as if she had read the way his thoughts were turning. “Everyone is upset about him but it really isn’t necessary.”
John wondered if Godomar had been talking to the girl about the after-life, but said nothing. In this particular case such beliefs would surely be very helpful. Sunilda would, he supposed, feel grief over her brother’s death soon enough.
He had questioned her at length about the picnic but learnt nothing he had not discovered already from a similar interrogation of Bertrada and the cook who had supplied the treats, not to mention the servant who had packed them into the wicker picnic basket. As in any wealthy household, only the most trusted servants were allowed to prepare food. Unfortunately there were any number of ways a determined and clever poisoner could circumvent every precaution taken.
Yet although Poppaea had fallen ill some time after the ill-fated outing, the honey cakes and sweetmeats left on the beach by their hasty departure had no strange appearance or odor. Neither Bertrada nor Sunilda had displayed any symptoms. Moreover, the abandoned treats had been fed to a local farmer’s swine without any visible effects to date.
They had passed through the olive grove and reached the headland. Twilight was fast advancing. John suggested it was therefore time to return to the villa.
“I’ll race you back,” Sunilda proposed. “Zeno says you’re a good runner.”
John laughed. “I used to be, but that was years ago.”
“You aren’t so very old, Lord Chamberlain, and certainly not as old as some people seem to think you are,” Sunilda observed.
“What do you mean by that?” John asked in a suitably serious tone, suppressing a smile.
“Everyone treats you as if you were an old man. You can tell by the way they talk to you. They always call you sir or excellency and they’re always careful about what they say.”
“That is just respect for the office I hold, Sunilda.”
“I don’t think Godomar respects you at all,” the girl contradicted. “I heard him telling Livia you were not to be trusted because you were a eunuch. I was not certain what he meant, so I asked Bertrada. She told me that it means you can’t father children but when I asked why, she just said you were badly hurt.”
“That’s true,” John admitted, “but in fact I do have a daughter.”
“But how did you get so badly hurt?”
It was not a question a Lord Chamberlain should have to answer for a little girl, John reflected, but her solemn gaze demanded some response. Still, he could not very well explain to her that he had desired to buy silks for his lover and that, in pursuit of his quest, he had strayed into Persia and been caught, only to be sold back over the border some time later to traders who had come to buy slaves for the palace. Gelded slaves. In the dark hours when he could not sleep he had endlessly debated why Fortuna had decreed that he was not immediately executed upon capture, as was the usual practice. The only answer at which he arrived was that Fortuna had been playing with him. Or perhaps, he suddenly thought, it had been because the Lord of Light, Mithra, had been watching over him.
“A long time ago, I went looking for something I urgently desired,” he finally began, “and I strayed somewhere I shouldn’t have. Across the Persian border, in fact.”
“The Persians are enemies of the emperor and godless heathen,” put in Sunilda.
“Indeed. Well, they caught me and I was wounded most grievously. So you see, Sunilda, when you are repeatedly warned you must not run off or stray away from Bertrada, you must pay attention. Doing so might put you into great danger, just as it did me.”
“There aren’t any Persians anywhere near here,” the girl pointed out. “Why did they hurt you, Lord Chamberlain?”
“Because it would gain them a few coins.”
“People do many bad things for money. That’s what Godomar says.”
“He is certainly right in that at least.”
Apparently satisfied with his answers, Sunilda grabbed John’s hand. “At least do hurry up a bit even if you don’t want to race!”
She tugged him back along the shadowy path. She at least was not awed by the high court post he held, it seemed. John felt a hint of wetness at the corners of his eyes. He was thinking of another real girl now, not the mosaic Zoe. Far away across the sea his daughter lived with her mother. He might perhaps see them again one day, but by then Europa would be a grown woman. If they ever met once more, he hoped they could spend more time together than they had during their one brief encounter. But he had never known her as a child and the child she had been was already gone, as dead as the boy, Gadaric.
But then, so was the man he had once been, the man who had fathered a daughter.
***
Arriving at his uncle’s estate to see how his elderly relative was coping with the aftermath of Gadaric’s death, Anatolius was greeted by the strange sight of a grim-faced Lord Chamberlain being dragged towards him by a small girl.
“What’s the matter, John?” he asked with a chuckle. “You look absolutely morose. Is your captor here hauling you off to the dungeons?”
Short as she was by comparison, Sunilda nevertheless contrived to appear as if she was looking down her nose at Anatolius.
“Sunilda and I were just having a little talk.” John extracted his hand from the girl’s grasp and handed her over to the servant who arrived in response to Anatolius’ rap on the villa door.
Before going inside, Sunilda turned and gave Anatolius an appraising look. “You are the one Calyce is going to marry, aren’t you?” she remarked suddenly. “I must say that you look very young and not very rich.”
When she had vanished inside John gave Anatolius a questioning look.
“The child is certainly not going to rival those famous goats as an oracle,” Anatolius told him with a grin. “I spent the whole day of the banquet trying to avoid that woman, as you may recall. She’s not unattractive in a patrician sort of way, I suppose, but I’ve decided it’s wise to keep away from those sorts of entanglements.”
“It would appear that the lady in question has other plans,” John remarked dryly.