He was suddenly aware of how hastily he had departed from Zeno’s estate. He was aware also that his increasing fatigue seemed to have placed weights in his boots. Given the manner of his leaving, however, rest was out of the question. He would have to return as quickly as he could.
He therefore set off immediately, offering a quick petition to Mithra that he would not find another disaster had occurred in his absence.
Chapter Twenty-seven
John had hoped to reach some useful conclusion before he arrived back at Zeno’s estate, out as he rode along by the gradually purpling sea, he found the meaning of the facts he had accumulated, even the strange matter of Castor’s royal lineage, to be as indecipherable as an oracle. The only thing that was certain was that with General Belisarius poised to create a vacancy on the throne in the west, the number of Ostrogoth candidates in the east had been reduced to two. Perhaps he was simply too fatigued to reason properly.
He contemplated Anatolius’ search for news of Castor, a search that John now knew would be futile, although perhaps not entirely wasted as the task had at least removed the young man from the vicinity of Calyce.
When he finally reached Zeno’s estate, he was waved in by an armed guard he had not seen before but who obviously recognized the Lord Chamberlain despite the fading twilight. Approaching the stables, John saw the explanation. Several imperial carriages were drawn up in the yard alongside heavily laden wagons while groups of soldiers mingled with the slaves unloading luggage or tending to horses and donkeys.
Theodora had returned to the estate while he had been gone.
The empress always traveled with enough of a military escort to take a small city by force if her safety, or, for that matter, her comfort, required it. By contrast, to the emperor’s oft-voiced chagrin, the Lord Chamberlain had long since dispensed with the sort of guards considered necessary by others holding lofty court positions. Having spent time in chains, John had no desire to be fettered to an entourage.
As he dismounted stiffly, a spectral figure emerged quickly from the shrubbery at the edge of the yard. It was Zeno. His garishly colored robe made a smudge of light in the increasing darkness.
“I see you’re under occupation by the legions of the empress, Zeno. I hope the pillaging is being kept to a minimum.”
“John,” the elderly man panted, “thank the gods you’re back. The most dreadful thing has-”
The crunch of boots on gravel announced the appearance of a detachment of guards. Armed guards, and all strangers to John.
In an instant John was surrounded. The smell of leather and of breath soured by a soldier’s vinegary wine ration assailed his nose. He took a step toward Zeno but an impertinent hand fastened upon his shoulder.
He turned and glared at the man who had dared to do such a thing. It was the guard commander.
“This way!” the man ordered, unabashed, “and quickly!”
John was marched off into the garden, leaving a helpless Zeno staring after him.
“I am Justinian’s Lord Chamberlain and under his orders,” John stated curtly. “Why have I been arrested?”
No reply was given as he was escorted deeper into the garden. Balbinus must have reported his visit to Justinian, John thought. Had the emperor decided to rid himself of his Lord Chamberlain for having disobeyed his explicit instructions to remain on the estate?
The company was moving deeper into the inky shadows. But, John thought, what if Justinian were not involved? What would he do when he discovered that his beloved wife had ordered John executed? Doubtless nothing at all. Or perhaps he would never find out and John would become another mysterious victim, dead or vanished, just like Briarus, Castor, and Barnabas.
John considered drawing the weapon in his belt but dismissed the thought. Against this group of trained men his small blade would bring nothing but instant death. He would wait and seize his chance to escape if one presented itself.
One of his captors yanked his arm, directing him down an overgrown side path. John felt the muscles in his back tighten as he braced himself for the sword thrust that would surely soon end his life. It seemed inevitable.
Take me to you, Lord Mithra, he prayed, and guard my family when I am gone.
Then he was abruptly shoved through a thick wall of rampant, thorn-filled bushes.
He stumbled forward, blood trickling down his scratched face, and realized with a combination of relief and fury that the whole thing had been just one of Theodora’s horrible jests.
Or was it a warning?
He had been marched in a circular path and was now facing the torchlit colonnade of the villa where Theodora stood waiting, surrounded by a knot of guards. Zeno was beside her, looking as pale as a demon.
“Lord Chamberlain,” Theodora said with a gloating half-smile, “I do hope that you enjoyed your little evening stroll even though I understand an old goat sought to bring you a prophesy of doom.” Her eyes glinted in the torchlight as she glanced toward Zeno.
John effected an all but imperceptible bow of the head. “My apologies, highness, for having kept you waiting. If I had known you would require my presence, I would have been at your disposal much sooner.”
“The emperor will doubtless be pleased to hear that you are so much more solicitous of my concerns than you are of his,” Theodora replied as she stepped forward. A torch guttered at her passage, sending a cloud of moths into the night. “You were explicitly ordered to guard Sunilda at all times. I could have you executed on the spot for your disobedience, Lord Chamberlain.”
The features of her guards betrayed no emotions. They were automatons, prepared equally to kill or not, at Theodora’s order. It was obvious to John that he was not yet completely out of danger.
“The emperor must be the proper judge of my actions, highness,” he replied softly.
His comment elicited no response from Theodora but Zeno emitted a muffled peep of horror.
The empress slid toward John with a faint rustling of silk. He could smell her exotic perfume. It did not quite mask the acrid sweat from her long, hot, carriage ride. He was reminded of an animal moving closer for the kill.
“It was insult enough that you should allow a murder to occur practically in my presence,” she said, “and now I return only to find you have lost another.” Her breath was sour with wine.
“Briarus’s death was-”
“Briarus?” she snapped.
“Castor’s estate manager, highness,” John explained. “The man who burned to death.”
Theodora laughed. “I must say, Zeno, that the excitement never ceases for those living, not to say dying, on your estate. The village festival will seem dull by comparison. However, I was referring to the girl, Lord Chamberlain.”
John felt a stone form in his chest. He glanced at Zeno. In the flickering torchlight the elderly man resembled a bloodless wraith.
“Poppaea?” John asked. He did not want to hear the news he feared from Theodora’s lips.
Zeno shook his head mutely.
“Oh, the useless little peasant is doing perfectly well,” Theodora said, “or so my lady-in-waiting Livia insists on constantly telling me. No, I was referring to Sunilda. Zeno informs me that a particularly thick sea fog rolled in late this afternoon and by the time it dissipated she had vanished.”
***
The stone in John’s chest had grown to the size of a boulder. As he and Felix quickly made their way to the Ostrogoths’ apartments, John kept hoping the girl would jump out from a shadowy doorway, laughing, to explain that her disappearance had all been a prank.
“We’ve looked everywhere,” Felix told him, “and after the search we made for Barnabas, we know everywhere there is to look.”
“If I had been here to help guard the girl-”
“Yes, but all the same it’s me and my men who carry the burden of securing the estate. It’s ironic, John. As a soldier, I would far rather die by losing my head on the battlefield than for failing as a nursemaid!”