Felix gestured to John to cease reading. A faint smile flickered behind his unruly beard. “And none of them my kin either! However, like the Goths, my tribe has Germanic roots, so we’re practically related, Bertrada and I.” He looked at the floor and then suddenly asked, “John, do you ever grieve for an opportunity you failed to grasp?”
“In a word, no, or at least not so far as court goes. Or do you mean an opportunity to hear warm words from a young woman’s pretty lips?”
Felix’ jaw set firmly as his nascent smile vanished. “No, I didn’t mean that, but since you mention it, younger eyes sometimes see more clearly than old and it’s certainly true that I’m not advancing as quickly as I should.”
“The emperor and the empress always see very clearly everything that might affect them, Felix, including discontent among the palace guards. Even the merest appearance of improper ambition is extremely dangerous. More than one such foolish dreamer’s head has been set free to wander, as you should know.” He paused, aware suddenly of the uncharacteristically cold tone in his voice. “I’m sorry, my friend. I’m getting short-tempered. I’m afraid I’m not advancing quickly enough with my current task.” He waved the codex he was holding. “And this has reminded me again of how utterly I have failed in my search to learn anything of the whereabouts of its owner.”
“I’m sick of the cursed thing! Much as I love history, by the time I finish twelve volumes of it, I’ll be history myself. If anyone remembers me, that is.”
John leafed thoughtfully through the codex. “This set must have been an expensive acquisition. Why would Castor be so interested in the Goths?”
“He was interested in everything, John. Obviously he knew that Zeno had Goths as guests this summer and it piqued his interest.”
“That’s probably so.” John snapped the codex shut. “But have you noticed, there’s something exceedingly strange about all this? The murdered child was an heir to the Ostrogoth throne. And yet, look at those who have died or vanished since. A mime, a servant, an unworldly Roman patrician. None of them Goths or even politically involved. How often, would you say, is a royal heir murdered for reasons having nothing to do with succession?”
“I doubt you’d find anyone who would give you good odds on that. After all, innocent people often die when the powerful squabble.”
John stood. “Well, I may not be able to question Castor personally, but since he apparently spent most of his time reading and had a tendency to annotate the works with thoughts on their subjects, through them he can tell us what he thinks. Let’s go and make inquiries about his interest in Gothic history by consulting his library.”
***
While John scanned the library’s shelves and alcoves Felix glanced through some of the notes piled on the table. “Look at this, John. It says, ‘A Comment On Galen’s Treatment of Digestive Disturbances.’ It’s just as you said. Castor had an opinion on just about everything.”
“And apparently compelled to set them all down. Now, let me see…” John pulled a leather-bound volume down, twin to the one Felix had been reading. He leafed rapidly through the work, stopping now and then to consider notes scribbled into it by its owner. “There’s one thing to be said for living in a world that consists of the written word, Felix. You can easily correct what’s wrong with it.” He paused. “Have you seen this?” he asked in a suddenly grim tone.
Felix leaned over for a closer look. “I don’t think so. What is it?” John directed Felix’ gaze to several scribbled lines in a small space left under the text at the bottom of the last page. The ink was darker and the crabbed writing not so meticulous as the hand of the scribe who had copied the book. “Is this Bertrada’s writing?”
“What do you mean?” Felix looked confused. “What? These names here? This lineage?”
“Written as if someone were imagining a place for themselves in the Ostrogoth royal family.”
“Mithra!” Felix expression darkened. “I don’t know if it is Bertrada’s writing. I’ve never seen it. It doesn’t look much like a woman’s hand to me. Surely you don’t imagine we sit around and pretend we’re king and queen like poor little Sunilda?”
“No. I don’t. I just wanted to be certain.”
There were several names arranged in rows, with lines linking some together. He recognized Theodemir, underneath which was written the name of his son, Theodoric, the Ostrogoth king of Italy. Below Theodoric was inscribed Amalasuntha, Theodoric’s daughter who had ruled as regent and whose murder had brought Belisarius to the gates of Ravenna. Beneath her name appeared those of her children, Matasuntha and Athalaric, while below Athalaric’s were written the names of his twin offspring, only one of whom was still alive-and indeed, not that far away.
“But why shouldn’t Castor write in his own codex if he wants to?”
“That isn’t what troubles me. It’s this.”
John touched his lean finger to the parchment, pointing out a line from Theodoric descending to two other names-one of them familiar.
He slammed the volume down with an oath. “I am going to Constantinople at once, Felix. I wish to have another word with Senator Balbinus about his deceased brother and his missing nephew, Castor.”
Chapter Twenty-six
John rode with all haste back to Constantinople.
Anyone who met him on the highway would have realized at one glance that he was absolutely furious.
Something akin to the black fog a young mercenary would allow to smother all civilized behavior on the eve of a battle had grown in him as he had read the incomplete family lineage scrawled in the back of Castor’s history.
After a few quick words with Felix he had stamped off to leave immediately. Even Zeno, who had glimpsed him as he strode across the stable yard, could see by the set of his shoulders that the Lord Chamberlain was in no mood for polite conversation.
By the time he passed through the city gate, however, he had regained control of his emotions and presented his usual expression of quiet attention, honed through years in a court where one wrong look or gesture could cost a man everything.
Now after a journey marked by his steady stream of cursing under the regular clatter of hooves, the taste of a salty breeze in his mouth and sunlight flashing off water into his angry eyes, he was finally pounding on Balbinus’ door to demand entrance.
John met the senator in the atrium. The gem-encrusted embroidery at the collar of Balbinus’ unseasonably heavy dalmatic attested to the fact that he had been about to set out to attend to official business. John made it just as plain that the senator was going to have to change his plans.
“Lord Chamberlain, what a pleasant surprise,” Balbinus began but noting the grim set of John’s lips, his smile froze in an expression not unlike that of a malfunctioning automaton with faulty gears.
“Indeed?” John replied in a level tone. “I rarely find surprises to be pleasant but I’m glad you mentioned it as I wish to talk to you where we will not be surprised.”
Wordlessly, Balbinus led him to a reception room whose walls were frescoed with mythological scenes.
“You have lied to me, senator,” John stated without preamble.
Balbinus raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated expression of offended astonishment that would have been visible across the Senate’s assembly hall before protesting that he could not even recall when they had last spoken.
“You lied to Anatolius, who informed you that he was seeking information on my behalf.”
“Surely, by lie you cannot mean-”
“I do not care to be lied to,” John broke in.
Balbinus’ tone hardened. “Do you have proof of what you claim, Lord Chamberlain?”
“I don’t need proof. I need only to speak one word to the emperor and that would be sufficient to condemn you. However, I wish to be fair. You will explain yourself.”