Four for a Boy (21 page)

A seller of produce arranging his wares on a stall looked up as John rushed past.

Something slapped John’s back. He didn’t turn. Another hit, this time on the back of his thigh. Then a green and white projectile hurtled over his head and smacked into the ground in front of him.

A bunch of leeks.

The civic-minded produce seller was doing his part to assist the authorities.

Looking for concealment John dodged into a public latrine, past a mendicant who had already taken up a post beside the carved dolphins decorating its entrance, and into the long room beyond.

A door in the far wall led to a room filled with buckets of sponges on sticks, supplied for the personal hygiene of patrons. From there, another door revealed a concrete-floored corridor slanted downward and then John emerged into the light.

He found himself gazing out over the waist-high parapet of the northern seawall.

He started across the cobbled space between the seawall and the back of the latrine. Even this small area boasted one or two beggars, who stared sullenly at him as he passed.

A granary abutting the seawall on the opposite side of the open area blocked further progress in that direction.

Several of John’s pursuers appeared, having made their way through the latrine, preventing any escape back along that path. The only other way out was a narrow opening between latrine and warehouse, but that led back to the forum.

John drew his sword.

He might be able to kill one or two, but he had no chance to against so many.

He leapt up onto the seawall.

Looking down, he did not see the roof of a warehouse so he could not put his faith in Mithra and leap as he had hoped. Only a sheer drop to the docks, much too far below. A jump would be fatal.

A stiff breeze brought with it a hint of seaspray.

John drew in a deep, painful breath, aware that he had come to a point where his remaining breaths could well be counted on his fingers.

His pursuers now moved forward warily, none of them wanting to be the first to feel the blade of a desperate, doomed man.

John was not afraid to die. If this were the death Mithra had chosen to grant him, he was thankful for it. It would be a soldier’s death.

He tensed himself, preparing to attack.

But, crept in the treacherous thought, what if their orders were not to kill? What if he were, instead, to be captured and transported to the imperial dungeons?

To jump would mean a clean death.

He felt an urgent tug on his cloak and looked down as the withered hand of a beggar huddled at the base of the seawall tugged again.

“Excellency,” the man croaked. “If you’re going to throw yourself over, could I have this?”

John yanked the cloak from the man’s grasp.

Furious, he nearly struck out at the beggar.

Then his quick glance in the man’s direction revealed what he had not noticed before, something the angled side of the nearby warehouse hid from the view of anyone not actually perched where he now stood.

On the other side of the building the seawall bulged slightly outward, and above it rose the tower of Avis.

“Quick! Grab him!” someone shouted hoarsely.

John pivoted and began to run as best he could along the treacherously narrow wall. Where it hugged the warehouse there was barely room to place his feet. He prayed to Mithra he would not step on a piece of loose masonry or slippery moss, or that a sudden breeze would not gust in off the water and unbalance him.

The brick wall rising up to his right seemed suddenly to be leaning seaward, as if to force him over the edge. There were no windows or doors into the warehouse to offer him an escape. He had to continue running or fall.

Perhaps Avis would assist a friend of Lady Anna’s, John thought rapidly, provided of course that he was not intercepted by armed men who doubtless would already be racing along on the other side of the warehouse to catch him when he emerged beyond it.

He came to the corner of the building, leapt from the wall and pounded up the tower’s winding staircase, within sight of the first of his pursuers.

The door at the top swung open.

Avis began to smile a welcome. Then his eyes widened as he looked over John’s shoulder and saw the small army now clattering up the splintered steps.

John made a show of shoving Avis out of the way, sending him stumbling down a few stairs. “You don’t know me!” he whispered hastily. “I forced my way past you!”

There was no reason for Avis to die also.

John leapt into the whitewashed aviary. Startled birds took to the air, flapping up from feeding troughs and potted trees. Crows perched in the rafters croaked raucous warnings.

John slammed the door shut and shot its bolt as the first armed man toiled into view.

The door would not hold for long.

How could he possibly escape?

John found himself staring out of one of the enormous windows overlooking the Golden Horn.

The view was little different than from the seawall. How much extra span of life had his brief flight gained him? It didn’t matter, because now he again faced the same dilemma, imminent capture or a fatal leap.

A distressed sparrow fluttered past him and perched on Avis’ worktable.

John was struck by the irony. The sheer drop beyond the window was not a barrier to any of the feathered creatures in the tower. It presented one to him alone, who could only dream of flying.

A man who at least could dream about flying.

John grabbed the artificial wings set in the corner as the door burst open and his pursuers jostled into the tower.

A black shape dropped from the ceiling and flung itself at the first man’s face, screeching like a demon.

A huge raven.

One of Mithra’s sacred ravens.

Curses echoed off the walls. Blades flashed, swiped ineffectually at the black terror. The attacked man suddenly shrieked and clapped one hand to the side of his bleeding head.

The raven flapped away, part of an ear clutched in its razor beak.

By now John had grasped the loops on the undersides of the immense wings.

Leaping up on the wooden chest, he kicked at the window, once, twice. Fragments of glass exploded outward, sparkling in the harsh light that turned the water beyond the docks to molten bronze. As the glittering shards vanished downward, the small study was suddenly filled with a swarm of winged shapes.

For an instant John stood transfixed at the shattered window as the noisy cloud flowed around him and then outside, like multi-hued smoke.

Avis’ winged captives had gained their freedom.

John did not expect to soar across the Golden Horn, but he had seen leaves drift placidly to the earth, moving lazily back and forth on unseen air currents.

It was a chance he had to take.

Offering a swift prayer to Mithra for escape or a quick death, he grasped the loops tighter and jumped.

He was never certain what saved him, whether it was the updraft from the docks supporting taut, silk-covered wings and belling out his tunic, or that one wing scraped against the side of the tower and slowed his fall, or perhaps a combination of both.

Whatever the reason, the dock rushed up to slam into him and a few heartbeats later, John lay amid the wreckage of Avis’ wings, safe but almost senseless.

The Gourd’s men would be after him immediately. He had to get up and run, he thought groggily as he got up on his hands and knees.

A hand clamped around his arm and dragged him to his feet. “Quick! Come with me!” shouted the huge man who hauled him up.

It was Victor, Viator’s son.

“There’s a door around the corner! Hurry up!” Victor pulled John roughly along and thrust him through the doorway as nearby workers pretended not to notice anything amiss.

That was always the best response to anything unusual.

John’s head began to clear as the pair ran along a short corridor that was wet and slippery beneath their boots, and through a crude, stone doorway into yet another corridor, one that led to a narrow, dark tunnel that eventually branched into three even narrower ways. Without hesitation Victor plunged into the central passage.

John was already lost.

“My friends and I played in here when we were young,” Victor explained breathlessly as they clattered further into the labyrinth. “Know them all like the back of my hand. The Gourd’s men don’t.”

They turned aside into an arched tunnel, its noisome muck up to their ankles. There were more doors and passageways, and then without warning John was in a place he remembered.

Viator’s warehouse.

“You probably wondered where I disappeared after you chased me in here,” Victor said with a wry grin. “Now you know.”

They flopped down on a pile of packing straw.

John looked down at the blood soaking through his tunic. A broken wooden slat from the wings must have scraped him, he thought vaguely. “Should I thank Fortuna you were on hand at the right time?”

“Not really,” Victor replied. “I’ve been hiding around here for my own safety. When the Gourd’s little army started thundering around so noisily I naturally took a look to see what was going on. And there you were, forcing your way into Avis’ tower with a pack of armed men after you. Naturally that caught my attention, even before you came crashing out the window as gracefully as a marble Icarus.”

John managed a smile at the imagery.

“Besides which, I wanted to see if the wings worked,” Victor admitted. “I’ve been waiting years to see them tested. Avis visits quite often asking for what he calls a small monetary contribution to help defray the necessary expenses of his work. Naturally I’ve developed quite an interest in the project.”

“Yes, I ran into him when we tried to arrest you, Victor,” John said wearily. “However, I suspect there was some other reason involved. Why did you really help me just now?”

The big man shrugged. “I’m a Christian, I’m supposed to help people in need.”

John was reminded of the cart driver who had tried to do the same thing and paid dearly for his effort, but found himself instead mentioning the doorkeeper who needed assistance after being stabbed as Victor and his friends escaped from the Great Church.

“I didn’t stab the old man,” Victor said. “I only found out about that later. However, I admit I do have a selfish motive for aiding you. I’m trying to find out who murdered my father.”

John awkwardly offered his condolences.

“Thank you,” Victor replied. “We tried to leave immediately after your visit, you see. We intended to sail on one of the ships father employed to transport marble, but as we made our way along the docks, a demon swooped down on us.”

A dark wave passed in front of John’s eyes. He blinked, but the dark mist remained. “A demon?”

“Oh, not a real demon, but it’s a good description. It was a black shape that struck out of nowhere. We were taken by surprise. The beast got in a telling blow and father fell into the water.”

Victor bowed his partially shaven head in sorrow, suddenly looking much younger. “I didn’t know what to do. Needless to say, nobody came to our aid. I should have grabbed the miserable creature. Instead I dived into the sea to try to save father, but he was gone. You wouldn’t think that such a big man could disappear like that. The water was so cold and dark. I couldn’t find him. It was as if Hades had swallowed him up the instant he hit the water. If I could just have found him…”

The thought of the greedy, dark water made John shudder. The importer of marble had indeed been swallowed up by Hades or at least by John’s idea of its antechamber.

“I saw your father when he was taken to the hospice, Victor, and he would have died whether you had rescued him or not. You acted bravely.”

Victor raised his head. His eyes were full of tears. “So he has been recovered? Then I must trust to others to bury him and honor him when I can. In the meantime, we are both hunted men.”

“The Gourd’s men must know that the labyrinth we fled through leads eventually to the docks. Before long there will be dozens of them here, searching every ship and warehouse for us.”

“We can leave by one of many exits.”

John made a sudden decision. “Help me to my feet.” His voice was fading.

Victor complied. “You’re very pale. You need medical attention, and soon. But where can we go?”

John managed to move his lips and whispered the only sanctuary that came to mind.

“The house of Senator Opimius.”

Chapter Thirty

“Why did you bring me here?” John demanded.

“You told me to,” Victor replied. “I pretended I’d come to work on the bath house and asked for Lady Anna. Just as you instructed. Don’t you remember?”

“No.” John struggled to sit up and failed.

He lay at the bottom of Senator Opimius’ private bath. The sunken room, usually filled waist deep with warm water, had been drained for repair. What little light seeped in wavered as a slight breeze stirred the vegetation half blocking the slitted windows. The rippling effect mimicked the missing water. John saw that not only was Victor present, but Felix and Gaius as well.

The physician, who had examined John, climbed to his feet with a grunt. “That’s likely the result of smacking your head on the ground. It’s made you groggy. Yes, there’s a nasty bruise there. Despite all the blood, that new cut is nothing. But I see you have some more serious wounds just starting to heal. You should not exert yourself for a day or so. No violent exercise. I’ll send achillea in case you start bleeding again. That’s what you have to watch for. The stuff is wonderful for stanching blood. In fact, what I always say is, if it was good enough for Achilles, it will certainly suit my patients.”

“That’s all very well, Gaius,” John said weakly, “but I have tasks to carry out. They can’t wait. Besides, staying here puts the senator and his daughter in danger.” Again John attempted to sit. This time he succeeded. He leaned back and shivered. The disused bath house was cold as a mausoleum. “I’d be surprised if everyone in the house doesn’t know we’re here by now.”

“Everybody’s in danger all the time in this city,” Gaius replied. “I’ve given you my medical opinion. Make sure you heed it. Next time we meet, you can buy me a cup or two of wine. We’ll consider that my professional fee.”

“I’ll take care of your fee, Gaius,” Felix said. “Lady Anna’s gone to get clothes for you, John. When you leave you’d draw attention in those bloody things and that’s the last thing we need. You were lucky you had a place to hide. Even luckier to be alive. When Victor arrived at the barracks, the first thing I thought was you’d been killed.”

“The second was that I intended to kill you next,” Victor said. “You practically had your sword in me before I could hand over that letter from the Gourd.”

“The Gourd’s signature is certainly a potent charm. It got you into the palace and as far as the barracks.”

“It didn’t convince you that you didn’t need to keep the point of your blade between my shoulder blades all the way here, though.”

“How could I be certain you hadn’t stolen the letter? You might have been leading me into a trap.”

“I should return to the hospice,” Gaius interrupted. “I’ll wager there’s been more than one unfortunate arrived since I left who really has been run through with someone’s blade.”

Felix agreed. “Victor, you’d better leave with Gaius. You’ll be safer if you go back into hiding for the time being. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve cleared yourself of suspicion by assisting John. But the Gourd’s men don’t know that. Now if we just knew who set them on John…”

“They certainly had an excellent description of me from the little I overheard in Dio’s studio.”

“So it seems. We’ll have to be careful, with eyes everywhere, but I think we can make it to Madam Isis’ house. She’ll hide us while we decide what to do next.” Felix looked around the stark, echoing space. “Speaking of which, this place must have seen some trysts in its time, although those other goings-on would have been a lot more enjoyable than our little illicit gathering.”

“You’re probably right,” came the reply in a woman’s voice.

Anna stood in the doorway, neatly folded clothing in her arms.

“Lady Anna, I apologize for my crudeness,” Felix said hastily.

“Do you suppose I don’t know what the servants get up to? Lack of privacy is the bane of their existence.”

As Gaius and Victor departed, Anna turned toward Felix. “If I could have a private word with John?”

Felix stepped outside and Anna descended the four steps into the dry bath. She sat on the lowest, facing John. She looked at him in thoughtful silence. It was the appraising look one might give a work of art, or a stranger.

“You appear more alive than when Victor brought you to the door,” she finally said. “I feared you were mortally wounded when I first saw you.”

“Lady Anna, I apologize, I wasn’t thinking clearly when I asked Victor to bring me here. However, it does give me an opportunity to warn you. I will be blunt since there is no time to waste. Despite what you might think, your father is one of those who opposes Justinian’s ascension. Worse, Justinian suspects.”

Anna’s only reaction was an almost imperceptible widening of her eyes. Her features remained frozen for several heartbeats. “How can you possibly believe such a slander?” she blurted out at last.

“I would not say it if I did not know it to be the truth. I observed your father at the baths with Trenico and Tryphon.” John quickly explained Tryphon’s lie and what he had heard from Fortunatus. Perhaps he was still not thinking clearly, not expressing himself well, because Anna merely shook her head.

“No, John. The very notion is impossible.”

“Lady Anna…” John began desperately.

Anna put her face in her hands and her shoulders shook with sobs.

“Don’t worry. Your father is a clever man. All you have to do is warn him. He will find a way to extricate himself.”

“It isn’t that,” came the choked reply.

When Anna raised her face the aqueous light filtering into the bath house glistened on the tears streaking her cheeks. “It’s because I can’t see you again, John.”

“Your father has banned me from the house. You must obey him.”

Anna looked away. “I came in while you were still unconscious, when Gaius was examining you…”

“I understand.”

“John, it isn’t your condition. Not really. But actually seeing…it made me realize…and accept the truth. I have been deluding myself. About many things.”

Anna slid off the step and knelt beside John. He was enveloped by the fragrance of the roses with which she seemed always surrounded. “I would like to ask a question. You mentioned there was once a woman.”

John hesitated before speaking. “Yes. Cornelia.” Emotion warmed his voice.

Anna smiled sadly. “I can tell you love her, by the way your lips shape her name.”

“Can you? We met in Crete. I had been a mercenary, but she persuaded me there was much to be said for the domestic life. We lived together for some time, traveling around with a company of bull-leapers. We came to Constantinople. It was before I was captured and mutilated.”

He paused for a while. When he managed to continue the raw pain in his voice lent it a rasp. “I was eventually brought back here in chains. The troupe had long since gone and with it my Cornelia. I have heard no word of her since.”

Anna wiped her eyes. “What a tragic story. No wonder a dark look dwells in your eyes.”

John laid his hand on hers, wondering at his own daring. Anna’s warm fingers clasped his hand tightly.

“There is no need to grieve for me, Lady Anna,” he said gently. “The man capable of loving a woman died long ago, and he died loving her. As he still does.”

“No, John. He isn’t dead.” Anna pressed her lips against his forehead and then ascended to the door without further hesitation.

“Goodbye…Anna.”

She did not respond and John was not certain she had heard. He was left only with a faint memory of roses.

Felix returned. “Let’s get you on your feet,” he said gruffly. “Can you do that?”

John nodded. The fog in his head was beginning to clear.

Felix took hold of an arm, unnecessarily it turned out, since John managed to stand without assistance. “Excellent!” Felix paused. “Now must ask you something, my friend. When Gaius was examining you—”

“How pleasing to hear yet again that while I was unable to protest I was stripped and put on display like an old Greek statue!”

“Yes, well…but…you claimed your captors had…”

“I was castrated, Felix. You have seen. Is that not sufficient? Can you imagine how many times I have been questioned about this matter? The very thing I most wish to avoid ever discussing with anyone, let alone the drunken louts who are always the most obscenely curious? So I long since decided to give the prying bastards an answer that would make them wish they hadn’t asked.” A brief smile crossed John’s face. “Yes, they always regret hearing the details. I will not be giving Madam Isis any business. Now we had best be on our way to her house while I’m still able to walk.”