Seven for a Secret (25 page)

Chapter Forty-Eight

Felix escorted John to Troilus’ emporium. The excubitor said nothing and looked straight ahead, avoiding John’s gaze.

The abandoned cistern at whose center the ramshackle structure sat had taken on an aspect different from that presented during John’s previous visit.

Then it had been a dim, empty cavern. Now a crowd of shadows moved between its rows of pillars glimpsed through a shifting fog of smoke. Torches shone like hazy suns or threw out shafts of light as the miasma eddied to and fro.

Even in that uncertain illumination John could see many of the figures were armed.

Not all of them were excubitors.

John recognized several faces. Men he had seen from a distance, meeting with Menander at the court near the sea, an actor from Petronia’s troupe, and, sitting on a fallen column, staring insolently in his direction, the boy who had led him from the stylite’s square to the cistern where the dead woman lay face down in the water.

The corpse that had not been Agnes.

Agnes stood beside Troilus in front of his shop, her face flushed from exhilaration or perhaps the physical exertion of leading John here.

They had been leading him from the very beginning but he should have realized it sooner than he had, John thought. Would have realized it, had he not been so eager to track down Agnes’ murderer and learn something about the model for the girl who had served as his confidante for so long.

There was nothing of Zoe left about Agnes now, except for the haunted eyes.

Troilus stepped forward. The torchlight accentuated the lines in his face and silvered the gray hair. Despite his youth he looked old and careworn.

“Lord Chamberlain! I see you are still in the habit of carrying out pursuits in person. Most high officials would summon servants for that sort of exertion. Nevertheless, I am pleased you have chosen to join us.”

“Us? Who do you mean, Troilus?” John replied.

“Why, those who have rebelled against Justinian’s vicious rule! Men and women of courage who have met with each other in secret until now! Men like yourself!”

John glanced at the purple trim on the garments worn by both Troilus and Agnes. The structure they stood before had gained the appearance of a military command post. Guards were stationed at its door and two artifacts from the shop stood ceremoniously outside.

The Sergius automaton and a life-sized satyr.

“As you well know, Lord Chamberlain, appearances count for everything,” Troilus went on. “What Justinian believes is more important than the actual situation.”

Felix had moved back a few paces. John could feel his silent, watchful presence.

Agnes stared at John with Zoe’s eyes.

Her gaze was full of hatred.

Had John always misinterpreted the mosaic girl’s dark-eyed countenance? He had supposed it evidenced a knowledge of the world beyond her years. Was it merely her loathing for the man who sat at his desk and contemplated her? The man who lived in the house where her family should have lived?

“If you abandon whatever foolish plan you’ve concocted, Troilus, it may be possible to convince Justinian that this has been nothing more than play-acting. Foolish, certainly, but not treason.” John looked around at Felix. “Isn’t that so, captain?”

Felix made no reply.

“It would not even be necessary for you to arrest these pranksters, my friend,” John persisted. “Return to the palace with me and we can laugh about it over a jug of wine.”

Felix’s gaze remained obstinately fixed on some distant horizon.

Troilus laughed. “Don’t imagine that either General Felix or I am so faint of heart as to abandon what we have set out to accomplish, Lord Chamberlain. Do you suppose these armed men are my only accomplices? Fate is on my side also, or perhaps you would say Fortuna? Not to mention gods much older and more powerful than the stripling godlet on which Justinian depends.”

“Indeed? And what causes you believe it to be so?” John replied in a tone indicating he doubted every word Troilus had spoken.

“Why, everything that has transpired in my life! What dreams I had after my father revealed my lineage! I remember when the ship bearing me came within sight of Constantinople. It was near sunset. The lights of the city were beyond counting. It seemed to me that I stood outside the sphere of the heavens and saw the stars blazing on the inside with the brilliant dome of the Great Church glowing sun-like at the center. This was to be my world, by right of birth, as the son of an empress!”

“Poetic words, but proof of your lineage,” John demanded, “where is that?”

Troilus’ eyes narrowed. “Do not interrupt me, Lord Chamberlain. You are accustomed to listening to your emperor, are you not? You will speak when I give you permission to do so.”

“But I am most interested in your tale!”

Troilus smiled coldly. “As well you should be! First, you must understand the effect of my only meeting with my mother. Can anyone conceive what it did on the innocence of a child to be greeted, not by motherly love, but by demonic hatred? I came as a babe to the breast, only to be cast into the grip of a murderous monster.”

John shrugged. “You did not know Theodora’s reputation?”

“Silence!” Troilus shouted. “You are speaking of my mother!” He paused and gathered his thoughts before taking up his story. “And yet that was only the beginning of the horror. I ran away. I was pursued through a nightmare of dark and unfamiliar streets, every one of which could lead only to my death.”

John pointed out that his present course was leading him to that dark destination.

Agnes stepped forward. “Troilus, I advise you to have the Lord Chamberlain’s tongue removed.”

“Afterward, perhaps, when we have extracted all the information he can provide,” Troilus replied. “If he chooses not to cooperate with us, that is. But first let me finish revealing my history to the fool. It will be spoken of for decades, celebrated in song, and if he refuses to join us, he should not go to his death without hearing it.”

Turning toward John, he continued. “And then when in my flight I sought refuge on a stylite’s column, as I reached the top, there descended upon me a demon. A foul, black bird. Flapping and screeching and scratching at my eyes with its filthy talons. Its stench was like the pits of hell. I fought, though I was nearly senseless with terror. The demon died and in doing so took the form of an old man.”

John remained silent. The remaining mosaic pieces were rapidly joining together.

“I was afraid I would be seen,” Troilus continued in a quieter voice, as if talking to himself. “I hid the body in the shelter atop the column and huddled beside it. Dawn came. How would I know when my pursuers had ceased to search for me? I had nowhere to go. If I were discovered I would die. Besides, all my senses left me. For a while I did not know where I was. Perhaps I actually was dead and in hell.”

“You have not seen Justinian’s dungeons yet,” John offered, calculating how near he would have to get to be able to leap on Troilus and disarm him.

Troilus paid no attention. “There was no room to move. I was thrust against my dead companion. His glazed eyes stared at me. He wheezed, as if some foul thing were trying to speak with his corpse mouth. And more than once I saw his expression change, but now I realize it was only the mass of flies crawling across his sunken face.”

Agnes began to interrupt, but Troilus waved his hand and she fell silent.

“Yes, Lord Chamberlain, my shelter was alive with flies. Their buzzing filled my thoughts and the formless drone became the tormented cries of dead souls, too loud and horrifying to be grasped by a mortal man. So overwhelming that it made me unable to think. And then there was the smell of death. I gagged ceaselessly. When I tried to breath through my mouth to avoid the stench, I inhaled flies.”

Felix stirred restlessly. Knowing his friend as he did, John realized he was tired of listening to Troilus and wished to move into action.

Troilus, however, was determined John would hear his story. “It was during that endless damnation that details of my flight came back to me as a dream I had forgotten. In the palace garden I broke away from the monster into whose hands my mother had delivered me and threw myself into an abyss. I had no thought but to end my life in my own way before death was inflicted on me in some manner too dreadful to contemplate.”

“It would have been an honorable death,” John said quietly.

“Ah, but my destiny was shown to be greater than that! For I was saved by falling into an ornamental pool. I stood in the water, hardly believing I was alive, wondering if I were really still falling and the world would wink out in an instant to end my hopeful dream. I felt a gaze on my back. Turning, I saw a figure glimmering in the darkness.”

Troilus paused, took a few steps to the statue of the satyr, and patted the chiseled fur on its marble flank. “It was the god Pan, Lord Chamberlain. He had spared my life by arranging for me to fall into a pool guarded by his image. Clearly I had been chosen to overthrow the foul representatives of the new religion, whose mothers throw their babes into the arms of demons. That is also why I ascended toward heaven and replaced the so-called holy man on the pillar. These were miracles, you see. Miracles arranged for me.”

John thought of Alba, who had also thought the boy’s ascent a miracle, although interpreting its message in a different fashion. He made no comment.

Troilus moved to Agnes and grasped her hand. The girl continued to stare darkly at John.

“The miracles did not end with my being transported to safety atop the pillar,” Troilus went on. “Before too many days had passed, the gods sent to serve me a man who had also been cruelly banished from court and now as you see…”

He fell silent.

“John!” The rumbling voice belonged to Felix. “The emperor has surely convinced himself you have turned against him.”

“I cannot imagine that,” John replied.

“It’s true. I’m certain of it. You must protect yourself by joining us.”

“What if I refuse, my friend?”

“Don’t think to test me, John. I can do nothing for you except to see…to make sure…you don’t suffer…You were warned, why didn’t you take notice?”

“You mean Cornelia was threatened. It was Procopius who visited her, wasn’t it? Did you send him, Felix? You could hardly warn me yourself.”

It was Troilus who replied. “We were and are concerned about the welfare of you and your family.”

“Felix must have told you I was loyal to Justinian,” John said. “And I remain so.”

Troilus smiled. “Then there is no reason for me not to have you killed, Lord Chamberlain. In fact, now you’ve seen what is about to happen and can betray those involved, there is every reason to order your execution. You will become half a centaur skeleton, like the stylite who once lived atop a pillar but now passes his days underground!”

“Soldiers die if it is necessary,” John replied.

“You might choose to die, but is your family as loyal to Justinian as you are? Even if our plans fail—which they cannot, for it is the will of the gods that they succeed—you have been implicated so far as Justinian is concerned, just as we planned by the method Procopius revealed to your wife. In the past the emperor has not treated kindly the families of those who displeased him. As for myself, a good ruler is merciful, but a ruler must sometimes give orders he might find distasteful for the preservation of the empire.”

“Such as murdering the man who rescued you from the pillar and treated you like a son?” John snapped.

Troilus’ jaw clenched.

It was Agnes who spoke. “Menander was untrustworthy. He talks too much when intoxicated. He had to be silenced. Besides, being like a father to Troilus was just good business on Menander’s part, wasn’t it?”

Here her voice was not distorted by echoes as it had been in the water-filled cistern. It sounded not unearthly but merely strident, not at all like the voice with which John was familiar.

Zoe’s voice, which had only been the sound of his own thoughts.

“But as to you, Lord Chamberlain,” Troilus was saying. “I offer you one more chance of life. If you are willing to aid me in—”

“The answer is no, Troilus,” John interrupted. “And as for Menander, however he died, your hand was in it.”

“I don’t dispute it, Lord Chamberlain.”

“And what about that young prostitute whose body you dragged into your shop and took from there to the cistern where I was led to discover her? You used the underground route I have just followed. Did you meet her when she came to the theater looking for her actress friend? How did you lure her to her death?”

“Mithra!” Felix drew his sword even as he uttered the oath. He took a step toward Troilus. “You said you’d paid a madam for a body. You never said you’d murdered an innocent woman.”

Troilus raised his hand in what he must have supposed was an imperious gesture but resembled, rather, an actor aping a ruler. “These are matters of no concern to us now that the time has come,” he said.

“What was her name? Was it Vigilia?” Felix demanded. “It was Vigilia, wasn’t it? You said you hadn’t seen her since the day she’d arrived at the theater.”

“We can discuss this matter later, General Felix,” Troilus replied, “when the imperial couple has been deposed. Now, order your men—”

“The last time I went to visit her at Theodora’s convent, I was told she’d fled and where she’d gone,” Felix persisted. “When I came looking for her, you told me she’d been to the theater but had left and that you would ask after her whereabouts. You’d help me search. Then you introduced me to Menander and his ambitious friends. And all the time…”

Felix’s voice cracked. His gaze was suddenly as wild as his brimming eyes, reflecting the torchlight.

John had understood the situation correctly. Vigilia had been the prostitute who had come to Anatolius’ attention. It wasn’t surprising Felix was the man from the palace who had pursued her. It wasn’t the first time he had been smitten with a young prostitute.

How cleverly after Vigilia had visited the makeshift theater in the Copper Market the plotters had grasped their opportunity to further their plans.