One for Sorrow (15 page)
John waited for Cornelia in the cramped cabin of the
Anubis
.
It was growing late. Following his misadventure with the cart of chickens he had returned home, changed clothes, and spent the rest of the day overseeing banquet preparations.
He pondered the mysteries confronting him: Xiphias’ flight, Leukos’ death, the self-styled knight from Bretania, the emperor’s insistence on burdening him personally with banquet details any of John’s assistants would normally have handled. Was the Armenian Ambassador in whose honor the banquet would be held such an important personage?
He had worried ever since learning from Hektor that Cornelia and Europa had been at the same private gathering attended by Berta. The young prostitute was dead. Might Cornelia and Europa be in danger too?
John had no reason to think so, but it struck him as prudent to speak with them about that night.
He waited for a long time and when he finally went onto the deck for a breath of air, he found that Europa had already returned. Instead of going inside, she was sitting on the rail of the bow looking out over the darkening harbor where the wavering reflections of countless ship-borne torches formed unfamiliar constellations on the water. He walked over to her and placed his hand on the smooth rail.
“Lord Chamberlain.” The girl swiveled effortlessly to face him.
Her formal mode of address sounded wrong to John, but then “father” would have sounded just as strange.
“Europa, you’re here…I hoped to talk to Cornelia.”
“Mother’s probably with the troupe. I’m not certain. I just returned myself.”
“I trust you didn’t ventured into the city on your own?”
“I’m old enough to take care of myself. But, as it happens, Anatolius showed me around. We met a knight. A fascinating man.”
Staring out at the scattered lights in the harbor, John was brushed by a touch of vertigo. It was as if the dome of heaven had been inverted and the
Anubis
was bobbing upon its endless depths. His hand tightened on the rail.
“Isn’t that a dangerous perch?” he asked Europa.
“Not compared to the back of a bull,” she replied. “Besides, there’s water below to catch me, not hard earth.” Torchlight glinted in her dark eyes as the ship moved on a swell. She seemed to be studying John. “You’re afraid of the water, aren’t you?”
John ignored her comment, but it made him uneasy. He was accustomed to reading others, not to being read himself. In the dusk Europa had a remarkable resemblance to the woman he had fallen in love with so long ago.
“What did you want with my mother?”
“I have questions concerning Theodora’s celebration and some of the other guests.”
“It’s about the murder of that friend of yours, isn’t it? Anatolius told me all about it.”
“Anatolius has a bad habit of talking about matters that are dangerous for him to reveal, and just as dangerous for others to hear.”
“I am sorry about Leukos. Was he a good friend?”
“A very good friend, Europa.”
“Did he have a wife, a family?”
“None that I know of. He never talked about his family.”
“Where was he from?”
“I do not know.”
The girl was silent. John could hear the wash of waves against the dock. “A strange friend, one you know nothing about,” she finally said.
“That is the way it is at the palace.”
“I don’t think I would like the palace, if it is truly a place where your friends are strangers. And what about daughters? Are they usually strangers too?”
“Europa, I had no idea I was a father until—”
“Father? You aren’t my father. You’ve killed him.” The girl swung gracefully down from the rail. “My father was a soldier. My mother used to tell me about him. A good man. Brave. Something terrible must have happened to him, she always said. He must have been carried down to the underworld, because nothing in this world would have kept him from returning to her. To us. And now, here you are. A rich man, who didn’t care!”
For a heartbeat, in the dim, dancing reflections of torch lit water she was her mother’s daughter, with Cornelia’s pride and fierce temper. Then tears began to flow, and the woman’s face dissolved into that of a child.
John stepped forward, reaching out awkwardly to draw her toward him. She shrugged away.
There was the sound of movement behind them, sufficiently different from the random sounds caused by the gentle motion of the ship on the water to be noticeable.
John whirled. Saw nothing. Yet he had heard a footstep. “Europa,” he whispered, “is there a watchman on this ship?”
“Watchman?” Europa quickly collected her thoughts. “There should be, but the crew’s an idle lot. He’s probably asleep.”
John scanned the ship. Did a shadow move in the doorway of the cabin he had vacated?
He drew his dagger.
“Mother must have got back.”
“No. Someone was trying to make as little noise as possible.”
“Oh, I’ll just go and—”
John blocked her with his arm. “You may be in danger,” he whispered to Europa. “Stay here.”
He could see her eyes glittering and she began to open her mouth to protest.
“Quiet! If need be, get ashore and run.”
John crouched low and moved away to investigate. The deck shifted under his boots, each movement bringing a different patchwork of shadow and reflected light. But there now seemed no sign of the intruder.
As he reached the cabin’s dark doorway, the vessel dipped in a sudden plunge. Caught off balance, he reflexively grabbed the doorframe to keep his footing.
He steadied himself, and putting his back against the cabin wall he peered at an angle through the doorway. The darkness inside was impenetrable. He was certain he could hear ragged breathing.
The intruder must have heard him when he stumbled. There was enough light outside to make him a clear target if he charged blindly into the cabin.
Where was the watchman?
Should he order the trespasser to show himself?
He heard the gangplank creak.
Footsteps approached rapidly.
“John! What are you doing here?”
Cornelia had returned. She came toward the cabin.
A figure burst out of it with a roar and was past John before he could react. Cornelia dodged to one side to avoid being knocked over and John, leaping after the intruder pulled up short to avoid crashing into her.
There came the thud of heavy running steps pounding across the gangplank and boyish cries as the watchman finally awoke.
There was no use in pursuing the man. Once on the docks he could go in any direction and there were endless hiding places.
Peter had not been able to disguise his displeasure the previous night when John brought Cornelia and Europa back from the
Anubis
. John had introduced the women and explained they would be staying at the house for their safety.
“But if any wag-tongues at the market should ask, Cornelia is assisting with the cooking and Europa is here as a housekeeper.”
Perhaps he could have thought of a better story to save the old man’s pride. Some day the strong-willed servant really would need help with his duties. For all his diplomatic skills, the Lord Chamberlain was not looking forward to dealing with him when the time came.
John heard voices in the hallway. Anatolius came in, accompanied by the women.
“It’s lucky I happened to drop by this morning, John. The hand of fate must have guided me here.”
“You said you needed information on the Armenian Ambassador to write introductory remarks for the banquet.”
“Well, it was fate I needed that information the very morning after these ladies arrived.”
“Speaking of which, Peter has showed us around the house and we admire your spartan accommodations,” Europa observed with a slight smile.
Cornelia chuckled. “John was never one with a taste for luxury,” she said, then added quietly, “For himself, at least.”
John noticed her gaze flickered to the elaborate wall mosaic which appeared, fortunately, sedate in the light of day. “The previous owner’s,” he told her.
There were chairs for Cornelia and Europa but John and Anatolius had to settle for stools. Anatolius poured wine Peter brought, and added a large portion of water in deference to the early hour.
“Despite the lack of furnishings, I’m sure you won’t have to sleep on the floor,” Anatolius smiled at Europa.
John saw the girl’s dark eyes were both watchful and serene. Had this curious combination had been born of bull-leaping? She might be a difficult person to take by surprise, a good thing in this complex and dangerous city.
Cornelia sat as watchfully still as her daughter, her gaze locked on John’s face. Seeing her after so many years, and in his own house, made his breath catch in his throat.
“I’m glad you brought the ladies here, John,” Anatolius said. “They’ll be safely out of sight.”
John shrugged. “Probably by now most of the palace gossips know that two women are visiting me.”
“I know you can rely on Peter to say nothing,” Anatolius observed.
“Yes, he can be trusted completely.”
“And the excubitors are within earshot if there’s any trouble. You’ll alert Felix, won’t you?”
“I think not. He’s distraught about Berta.”
Cornelia frowned. “Why do you imagine the intruder on the
Anubis
was looking for Europa and me? The city must be filled with common thieves.”
John raised his cup to his lips to disguise his long pause. “Two people have died and one has vanished. There may be connections. As I told you last night when I explained the situation, the girl who died entertained at the same party as you did.”
“We’ve performed at countless private parties over the years, John. There was nothing remarkable about it, except it happened to be arranged by the empress and the surroundings were particularly luxurious.”
“Theodora much preferred the lewd contortions of those clumsy dwarves,” noted Europa.
“A soothsayer also entertained,” John said. “And the day Leukos died, he visited that very person at the inn where he lodged. The same inn where Thomas, our mysterious knight is staying, where his acquaintance Gregorius the charioteer is staying, as well as members of your troupe, Cornelia. There must be a connection.”
“But if so, why isn’t it apparent? You’ve talked to all of them.”
“And no one has told me the truth.”
“If only you could be one of the flies on the inn wall,” Anatolius put in.
“Unfortunately the proprietors would recognize me now.”
“And myself as well, since I visited the soothsayer. Otherwise I would be happy to serve as your spy. But why so suspicious of the soothsayer?” Anatolius said. “He impressed me. I was pleased by the prophecy he gave me.”
He looked at Europa, but she failed to ask what the soothsayer had predicted. “There is so much darkness in this bright city,” she said. “It almost makes me wish for the true brightness of Crete.”
Anatolius lifted his eyebrows in inquiry. “Almost?”
The girl colored and looked down at her sandals.
John, watching this exchange, was set adrift on a sea of emotions. Cornelia, peering sideways at her daughter, wore a slight smile. The curve of her cheek against the colorful riot of mosaic behind her was uncomplicated, clean. John, suddenly weary, longed for sun washed walls, blue vaulted skies, open fields. His life then had been new and uncomplicated. Now it was anything but and he had no idea what to expect next.
Alerted by a shrill squeal, John looked away from the Armenian ambassador, straight into the eyes of a wild boar.
The sharp tusks of the charging beast were not far from John’s face, the animal’s eyes glazed with death.
It was an expression John had seen before.
“There’s another who aspired to sit at the emperor’s table but now regrets it.” John remarked.
The ambassador, a plump partridge of a man on the verge of old age, laughed too heartily.
John forced himself to smile. He should have spent the day out in the city searching for Leukos’ murderer instead of confined to the Hall of the Nineteen Couches fretting over this infernal banquet, thanks to a direct order from Justinian.
Banquets in the hall were a nightmare of protocol. In addition to the main table in the center, windowed alcoves along both sides of the large space housed their own tables. How did the emperor expect him to find a murderer while checking seating arrangements?
He shifted uncomfortably on his couch, an anachronism now except at banquets. Anatolius, reclining to right, had his face in his wine goblet, while the ambassador, to his left, chattered on.
“Lord Chamberlain, please excuse the ignorance of a foreigner, but in Armenia we associate with your title one named Narses, a native son. Indeed, we have heard he assisted in putting down those unfortunate riots in Constantinople a few years back.”
“Yes, Narses is well known outside the city. But the organization of the palace is complex. Theodora has her own Lord Chamberlain, for example. Has his name reached Armenia?”
Before the ambassador could question John further, the pulley arrangement at the end of the long table squealed again and the immense silver platter on which the artfully posed boar lay inched forward toward the carver stationed at the end of the table beside the emperor and empress.
Now the ambassador was exclaiming over the glimpse he had had of the boar’s belly, which, cut open and facing upwards, presented a display of roast ducks swimming in a sharp-scented, spiced sauce. “And aren’t those fried eels floating just below the surface?”
Anatolius lifted his face from his goblet. “A remarkable landscape of dead flesh to set beneath the nose of an emperor who won’t eat meat. Perhaps Theodora ordered the display as a little jest at Justinian’s expense.”
The Armenian ambassador laughed loudly and John shot Anatolius a warning look.
John glanced around. Several couches away the patriarch was dining frugally on bread and red wine. The Mithran in the Lord Chamberlain would have admired a man whose religious sensibilities did not allow him to indulge in the pleasures of the world even an arm’s length from the emperor. Then again, the old cleric’s lack of appetite here might be common sense, for at court even members of the church were not immune from political machinations and assassination attempts.
The patriarch looked pale and gaunt. John wondered whether the old man’s professional interest in eternal salvation was becoming a matter of personal concern.
His gaze moved to Theodora, who was now busily spearing slices of roast duck with her knife while her husband occupied himself with a bowl of what might as well have been weeds so far as John could tell. Would the empress be an attractive woman without the rouge and powder and luxurious robes? Justinian, he noticed, regarded her with an expression of fond indulgence even as she bit daintily into her duck with her small carnivore’s teeth.
After the dining finally ended and Patriarch Epiphanios had muttered the closing grace and departed, the shrilling of flutes announced the start of the entertainment.
John hardly noticed the mimes or the dwarves. When a dancing girl clad in white from shoulder to thigh, her scanty clothing shimmering in the lamplight, leapt onto the table, she merely served to remind John of Berta, with whom Felix and Thomas had been so taken.
The dancing girl glanced down at Anatolius, lost her balance, and fell off the table just as two miniature chariots pulled by small, briskly trotting, long-haired dogs and driven by hirsute brown charioteers burst into the hall.
“Monkeys!” cried the ambassador.
Tiny bells on the dogs’ polished leather harnesses jingled merrily as the diminutive charioteers commenced to chase each other around the hall, chattering, displaying their teeth, and waving miniature spears at each other.
The diners roared with laughter.
“The poor dancer must not like monkeys,” said Anatolius, scrambling off his couch to help the girl up.
John swiveled around to watch the charioteers, who had made a circuit of the table and were returning.
One of the drivers clutched a bunch of grapes he had snatched from the table.
The other hurled his spear in John’s direction.
John heard the tiny projectile hiss past his ear, then the weapon embedded itself in the shoulder of the senator across the table.
As the wounded man looked in stupefaction at the blood blossoming on his garments diners fell utterly silent.
Except for Theodora’s cawing laugh.
***
When the banquet was over John made his way to the foyer where the emperor and empress were receiving selected guests. He was still pondering the charioteers. Surely the spear could not have been intended for him? A monkey couldn’t possibly be trained to select a target, could it? His close call had been nothing more than chance.
Justinian greeted him with his usual bland geniality. “All was perfect, as usual, Lord Chamberlain.”
“Thank you, Caesar.” John bowed.
Justinian waved a beringed hand. “And that reminds me. I have not thanked you for your efforts concerning the death of the Keeper of the Plate. Do not trouble yourself further with the matter.”
John’s stomach knotted. “Caesar, if I may ask—”
“You may not.”
Justinian turned away with an abruptness that would have been characterized as rude in anyone other than the emperor.
John had been dismissed and dared say nothing further. He was suddenly aware of the empress standing beside him.
“Lord Chamberlain, my husband is too kind. I am not always so pleased with your efforts. You might, in the future, keep that in mind.”
“I never forget it, Highness,” John replied truthfully.
Theodora’s heavily painted features betrayed no emotion. It was commonly said she had not been a very good actress in her youth; if that were true, John guessed her knowledge of the craft had deepened during her years as empress.
“I am in accord with the emperor on the guilty one,” she said. “I have met the soothsayer and though I did not speak with him for long, he struck me as a vicious, unprincipled man, one who would not blink at murder.”
John stared pointedly at a drop of grease shining at the corner of the empress’ mouth. She licked away the tiny gobbet.
“A word of caution, Lord Chamberlain. Being too observant can be dangerous.”
