“What is it that particularly troubles you?” Godomar inquired.
Peter frowned. “For one thing, there are far too many comings and goings and people creeping around during the night. It’s said that the flesh is weak, I know, but on this estate it seems absolutely helpless.”
“But you serve in the palace, Peter. Surely you have seen such behavior before?”
“My master has his own house, thanks be to heaven,” Peter replied fervently, “and a well-ordered house it is too. Indeed, while I’ve served in many places in my time, I’ve never seen such brazen impropriety since I was-well, even then-” He paused and frowned. “It must be something to do with all these mechanical abominations, sir. I know it’s not a servant’s place to question his betters but is not creating a thing that mimics life almost blasphemy? Perhaps that was why the poor little boy died and Poppaea is now so ill.”
“That is possible,” Godomar acknowledged. “However, you appear to be devout, Peter, so I doubt you’ll come to any harm in this place.”
“But were not Gadaric and Poppaea also devout?”
“Indeed,” the other confirmed, “yet even those of us who are firmly bound to goodness must be always on our guard.”
“If you would be good enough to offer a prayer for me and for my master I would be most grateful,” Peter said hesitantly.
“I will do so gladly.”
Thus reassured, the elderly servant continued on his slow way down the corridor.
Watching him go, Godomar wondered how loyal such a devout man could be to a pagan master who was certainly beyond salvation. Indeed, he suspected that the twins’ Christian but sadly Arian forebears, including even the great ruler Theodoric himself, were presently crying out in agony in their eternal punishment.
The thought reminded him of the preparations he had yet to make for Gadaric’s funeral. Thanks to his ceaseless labors, he thought with some satisfaction, the innocent boy had been a good, orthodox Christian. His rites would certainly reflect that. Given the godless enticements of the world-especially those of the court, not to mention Zeno’s estate-it was almost as well that Gadaric had died so young. The road to salvation was a difficult one but his had been shorter than most. Now his sister must continue on that road alone.
Yes, thought Godomar, the road to salvation would be an excellent topic for the address he would give at the boy’s funeral. He wondered if the unrepentantly pagan Lord Chamberlain would deign to attend.
Chapter Thirteen
John walked away from Gadaric’s grave. Although it was past mid-morning the grass of the small clearing in an inconspicuous corner of Zeno’s garden was still soaked with heavy dew. John could feel its moisture seeping uncomfortably through the soft leather of his boots. He chided himself for even noticing such a petty annoyance under the circumstances. After all, life was full of trivial irritations, all endless distractions from its tragedies and joys.
Those who had attended the brief ceremony began to drift away back to the villa. A few remained in the clearing and talked in hushed tones. Godomar’s voice rose above the others. Birds sang cheerfully, unheeding, in the surrounding trees.
The boy’s funeral had been slightly delayed while messages went back and forth between the estate and Constantinople. There had been some concern over where Gadaric should be laid to rest since the twins had no family, or at least not outside Italy, and no permanent residence, having been shifted from one host to another during most of their brief lives. Finally it was decided that burial on the estate where Gadaric had spent his last summer seemed as appropriate as any other place.
“I’ll have a fitting memorial built,” Zeno had said. “With an ever-burning flame. Or perhaps it could include a replica of one of those toy animals Hero made for the children. Gadaric had such fun with them, you know. Hero could make it so that it would move in the wind. I think the boy would have liked that, don’t you?”
John did not remind the kindly old man that Gadaric would not be able to enjoy such a creation. He had noticed that during Godomar’s graveside remarks Zeno had shifted from foot to foot, looking like a lost child.
The boy’s sister Sunilda, on the other hand, had appeared utterly composed, standing between her nursemaid and Calyce. The women repeatedly wiped away tears and directed concerned looks at their charge, but the child had remained dry-eyed. She appeared bored. Once John thought he saw a hastily suppressed smile begin to form on her lips.
John had now spoken to the kitchen staff and the gardeners, not to mention estate laborers and house servants and slaves, concerning the night of the banquet. Predictably, they had neither seen nor heard anything of assistance, their attention having been occupied with their master’s wealthy, high-born guests. Although this famous senator or that renowned lady had been mentioned in passing, the merest glimpse of the empress had been enough to drive any possibly useful information from their collective minds.
John was contemplating the task ahead when Calyce caught up with him.
“Lord Chamberlain, I didn’t see your young friend Anatolius at the ceremony.” Her mouth was set in a grim line which accentuated her prominent jaw.
“It was necessary for him to ride for Constantinople, Calyce. He asked me to express his condolences to the boy’s family at an appropriate time after the funeral. I should be grateful if you would accept them on his behalf.”
“But of course. How considerate of Anatolius. Poor Gadaric, he doesn’t have much of a family. Or didn’t have, I should say.” She dabbed at her eyes. “Bertrada is only a nursemaid but I’ve tried to help her as much as I could, or at least when I am not waiting on the empress when she’s in residence here. Bertrada’s little more than a child herself, you know, and has to deal with that overbearing man Godomar, although I suppose I shouldn’t have such harsh words for a man of religion.”
“Do I understand Bertrada is an Ostrogoth herself and came from Italy with the twins?”
“Oh, yes. She was in Amalasuntha’s household but there is no family connection as such. Italy became very dangerous for anyone connected with Amalasuntha and Bertrada was fortunate she was sent to Constantinople with the twins when they were taken under the emperor’s protection. She makes a fine nursemaid for them, being their countrywoman. However, she was young when she left Italy and had really had no opportunity to gain an appreciation for the finer, more elegant ways of court. So I’ve tried to take her under my wing and instruct her a little.”
“You and Livia are also originally from Italy?”
“Yes, we are. Indeed, that was the reason Theodora chose us from among all her ladies-in-waiting to stay here with the children this summer.”
Godomar strode past them at a great pace. He said nothing but his gaze lingered on John and Calyce as they walked along together and his mouth tightened.
“Is the prelate also Italian?” John asked as Godomar swept silently by.
“I believe so. Why, Lord Chamberlain, just think! We appear to have almost rebuilt Rome on the shores of the Marmara!”
“Please don’t give Zeno any more wild ideas, Calyce. Tell me, had you met Godomar before you arrived at this estate?”
“No, I hadn’t. I suppose Justinian chose him to tutor the children because of his obvious piety-not to mention his orthodoxy.”
“I haven’t seen Livia this morning,” John noted.
“She’s sitting with Poppaea. The girl still hasn’t woken up. Do you think it’s that awful dwarf creeping about, up to no good? We’re all in danger so long as he is loose.”
“The search for Barnabas continues and Captain Felix’s excubitors are guarding the estate,” John reassured her. “There is nothing to fear. As to Poppaea, Gaius was of the opinion that she would soon awaken of her own accord.”