Mary Reed - Five for Silver

“You believe she would be better off without him,” John corrected him sharply. “Are you only thinking of yourself?”

“John, I-”

“The plague has turned everything upside down, but eventually it will depart. For those of us who remain, the world will right itself again. Remember that. Don’t do or say anything you will have cause to regret when things return to normal.”

“You’re right. I won’t.”

They resumed walking. Sunlight played brightly across an ornamental pond like liquid fire. A fragrant stand of pines offered cool shadow.

Anatolius picked up a cone and hurled it toward the Marmara. The sea looked much nearer than it actually was. The cone vanished into a huge rhododendron on the next terrace down. “When I heard about Balbinus, I first came to you to ask if you knew anything about it. Then, since you were out, I went to his house. Not that I’m blaming you for not being home,” he concluded hastily.

John explained he had been investigating the background of a friend of Peter’s and then related how Gregory had died and Peter’s vision.

“Felix and Gaius are both certain it was nothing more than street violence, and I’ve found nothing that would indicate otherwise,” he continued. “However, Peter has got it into his head that the murderer can be found. Frankly, I’m at a loss about where to go next, angels or no angels.”

Anatolius looked thoughtful. “‘Gregory. Murder. Justice.’ Not a very eloquent message, coming from an angel. Still, we live in strange times. It’s almost enough to make one believe in miracles. Do you remember when I visited you with Crinagoras not long ago?”

“How could anyone easily forget his recitation of his Ode to a Granary?”

“I’m sorry about that,” Anatolius grinned. “The sight of Hypatia in the garden set him off. His poetry inevitably flows as soon as he glimpses a pretty woman. Well, I can understand that, but what I forgot to tell you is that as we were leaving we ran into Peter and his friend Gregory returning from one of these weekly visits you’ve just told me about. It was right outside the excubitor barracks opposite your house, as a matter of fact.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. Gregory was taking his leave of Peter because he had a call to make. I had to return to my office, but since Gregory’s business was in a street right on Crinagoras’ way, he volunteered to accompany the old fellow. The streets are more dangerous than ever and Gregory was happy to accept the offer of an escort. He did keep saying he didn’t want to cause any trouble, but if Crinagoras would see him to the door, that would be helpful.”

“Do you know where was he going?”

Anatolius beamed. “To visit a shipper by the name of Nereus. Crinagoras told me all about it when I saw him next day. He was beside himself with excitement. Apparently Nereus was on his deathbed and frantic to make an oral will, so Crinagoras and Gregory were both recruited as witnesses! The experience was new to Crinagoras…and perhaps deserves an Ode.”

Empress Theodora stepped out of her silk tunica and pushed it away across the tiled floor of the Great Palace baths with a deft flick of her bare foot.

Naked, she was a short, middle-aged woman with thick ankles and slightly fleshy arms, hardly the glamorous subject for sculptors as she was when clothed in imperial regalia. She did, however, still possess the shapely calves and thighs of the dancer, one of the professions she had followed in her youth.

This afternoon her audience consisted of her ladies-in-waiting and two aristocratic matrons, standing nearly up to their chests in the steaming circular pool, plus the startled bathers’ two servants.

Theodora’s ladies-in-waiting carefully folded the layers of glinting, gem-patterned robes she’d just shed and gathered up several pieces of jewelry. The empress glanced down over herself, performing the ritual examination that had become common for the city’s inhabitants. “Do you see any of the signs?”

The attendant she’d addressed, trained never to stare at her mistress, timidly directed her gaze toward the empress. Finally she shook her head and quickly turned away, bending to retrieve the discarded tunica.

Would anyone dare tell her if they did note some indication of the plague, Theodora wondered.

She padded over to the steps leading down into the water. The baths she had chosen occupied a semicircular room, reminding her of the apse of a church. Steam from the pool coiled upwards through a shaft of light descending from the circular aperture in the large room’s domed ceiling. Benches and tables sat against the walls. A monumental Diana, hunting gear strewn around her chiseled feet, stood nearby, looking ready to place a bare marble foot into the pool.

“My private bath is well appointed, ladies, but it gets lonely, bathing with only echoes for companions,” Theodora observed to the room at large.

One of the bathers, chubby and pink, began to execute a low bow, became suddenly aware that her pendulous breasts were, perhaps, not an appropriate display of respect, and clamped her arms down over them. Her companion, a pallid, angular woman with sunken cheeks and chest, stepped backwards in the water, wincing as her spine came up against the sharp snout of a fancifully carved, water-spewing fish.

“There is no need for formalities, Priscilla,” Theodora addressed the plump bather. “Just think, now you’ll be able to tell everyone you’ve bathed with the empress. That stable boy you’ve been trysting with in the palace gardens will be most impressed, not to mention your husband the senator.”

Priscilla was suddenly much less pink despite the hot water.

“As for you, Galla,” Theodora observed to the other woman, “I expect you don’t have anyone to tell your secrets. But you don’t have to run away. I won’t bite.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not a devotee of Sappho, are you? Might it be I will not be safe with you in there?”

“Oh, no, excellency. Never. That is to say…”

Theodora giggled. “This is so much more pleasant than my solitary ablutions. I know, let’s play.” She splashed a handful of water into Galla’s face.

The woman sputtered and coughed.

Theodora splashed her again. “Come now, fight back. It’s no fun otherwise. You too, Priscilla. Hurry up!” She sent a spray in the direction of the plump woman. “What? Afraid to splash the empress? Just pretend I’m someone else. Pretend I’m your stable boy.” Her tone sharpened. “I might as well be bathing with the Patriarch. Play!”

Priscilla bent slightly, cradling her bosom with one hand, dipped her fingers into the water, and shook them in Theodora’s direction.

The empress gasped. Her hands flew up to her eyes. “What did you do?” she wailed. “I can’t see!”

Her ladies-in-waiting rushed to the edge of the pool.

Priscilla gaped in horror.

“Don’t stand there! Help me!” Theodora cried.

Priscilla stumbled forward clumsily. The empress executed a well practiced dance step, swung her foot, and cut her fellow bather’s legs out from under her. Priscilla disappeared below the water, sending a wave up over the rim of the pool, soaking the ladies-in-waiting.

Theodora laughed with delight.

As Priscilla surfaced, choking and spitting, Theodora gleefully prepared to dunk her playmate’s head beneath the water.

Before she could do so, a shadow passed over the pool.

Something was blocking the light from the aperture in the dome.

Theodora looked up.

A dark shape almost filled the opening.

A great, black bird.

It dropped, dark wings spreading, and hit the center of the pool in an explosion of water.