Mary Reed - Five for Silver

Several boys raced frantically past John, their garments flapping around spindly legs. They were followed, at an increasing distance, by two lumbering middle-aged men, obviously unaccustomed to running. The men stopped, looking relieved, when John accosted them. Both had the soft, immaculate look of clerics.

“Thief,” gasped one. “Did you see him?”

“Some crazed old man,” added his companion, panting. “Yet spry on his feet all right!”

The other man took a few deep breaths and wiped his perspiring brow on his sleeve. “It was this holy fool everyone is talking about, sir. He tried to tie himself to the Column of Flagellation. Blasphemy of the highest order.” His tone conveyed his horror at the recollection.

“Trying to steal it, you mean,” his companion corrected him. “He was trying to tie it to his back to make off with it. The very instrument of our Lord’s torture meant nothing to him but a few gold coins.”

“Anyway, we chased the fool away. It’s only a fragment of the column that we have, but even so, it’s too heavy to carry, or so I’d have thought. The boys will follow him and find out where he’s gone, then we’ll alert the authorities and they can take care of the matter.”

The clerics continued on after their vanished charges, limping rather than running.

John set his course for home. No matter the disaster, there was always someone ready to take advantage, he thought. The Christian church seemed to attract more frauds than might be expected. Perhaps it was because their god seemed less inclined to interfere with the mortal world, less likely to let loose thunderbolts than Zeus would have been.

He passed a street he’d visited earlier. Movement caught his eye as a thin shape slunk into an alley. The starving cat from the bakery, carrying something in its mouth.

John sighed. “I’m glad the day has brought someone good fortune, my feline friend.”

***

Gaius perched his bulk uncomfortably on a stool in John’s kitchen. Hypatia shifted a bronze pot to the back of the brazier, added water, and stirred the mixture in an attempt to tame the wildly bubbling concoction. Nose-stinging smoke hung in the air. Evidently some of the pot’s contents had boiled over when Hypatia went downstairs to admit Gaius to the house.

“I’m sorry to have made you wait, sir. Peter’s usually prompt to answer the door. He isn’t himself right now.”

“Of course. He will be mourning his friend. And what are you preparing, Hypatia?”

“This is a mixture to fortify the body against afflictions. It is commonly used in Egypt.”

“What I could actually use to fortify myself is a cup of wine.”

Hypatia set jug and cup on the table. Gaius emptied the cup at one gulp and poured himself a second libation.

Hypatia gave the pot another stir and pushed a strand of black hair away from her tawny forehead. She had very striking eyes, Gaius thought. He shifted and the stool creaked alarmingly under his weight. He needed to visit the gymnasium more often, he told himself, lifting the wine jug to pour again.

“Are there any potions I could prepare for you to use at the hospice, sir? If there was only some cure…”

Gaius shook his head. “The only cure seems to be good fortune. Do you happen to have a recipe for that?”

“No, but I’ve made a number of charms to protect us all.” Hypatia waved her ladle toward the baked clay scorpion crouched on the table. “You can take that one with you if you wish, sir. The house is well guarded by others.”

“What I need is more something with hands. Hands is what we’re short of. To bathe the sick, calm the humors, administer pain-killing mixtures, that sort of thing.”

“That’s all you can do for your patients?”

“I’ve tried lancing the swellings. When they burst spontaneously the patients tend to live, but in those cases I’ve attempted it, I generally find carbuncles inside and they die anyway.”

Hypatia wrinkled her nose. “Peter says it’s judgment from heaven to punish the sinful.”

“I couldn’t tell you which among them are sinners. Sin doesn’t seem to have symptoms. I do know most die with the name of their god on their lips.” Gaius drained his cup for the third time. One would expect a Lord Chamberlain to own decent sized goblets, he thought irritably.

“You mentioned Peter’s friend?”

Gaius stared thoughtfully into his cup. At least he hadn’t been presented with that cracked specimen John insisted on using, a cup not fit for a beggar in his opinion.

“Yes,” he finally said, “Gregory. I cannot stay too long, so I wish you to convey to your master that it occurred to me to do a complete examination of his body. There hadn’t been any reason hitherto since the cause of his death was obvious enough. But seeing John’s great interest in the man…well, anyway, tell your master my advice is not to waste any more time looking for his murderer. Gregory had swellings in the groin so it is more than likely he would’ve been dead in a few days anyway. Whatever scoundrel slid a blade between his ribs did him a favor.”

“If you ask me, Gaius was right. There must be hundreds in this city praying right now for the quick end Gregory had.” Felix swirled the last of his wine, peering down into its dregs as if he were seeking information on his future. “You’ve had to put a mortally wounded comrade out of his misery on the battlefield more than once, I’ll wager.”

John scowled at the burly, bearded excubitor captain seated by the study window. “Once, yes. He begged me to do so. It was a merciful act. However, I must find the culprit for Peter’s sake, not for Gregory’s.”

“These things happen all the time, John, like cart accidents or being struck by lightning, except a lot more frequently. From what you’ve told me I see no reason to think his death was anything more than the result of robbery.”

“No, there’s no logical reason to suppose otherwise,” John admitted. “Only Peter’s vision.”

“The angel? Well, if his god went to the trouble of sending a heavenly messenger, why not reveal the name of the culprit as well? Why push the job on to you, an unbeliever?”

“You remind me of Anatolius in his wittier mode.”

Felix tugged at his beard. “Yes, well…I suppose I shouldn’t be so flippant. I’m about to depart the city for a while, which is what I came to tell you. I’ve been ordered to take some of my men and escort Justinian and Theodora to their Blachernae estate.”

“I hadn’t heard they were leaving the palace. Then again, it’s been some days since Justinian summoned me and, thankfully, even longer since I was ordered to attend an audience with Theodora.”

“A thousand people are dying every day and the bodies can’t be cleared from the streets fast enough for the carts to get through. It’s best for our emperor and his wife to be away from the contagion, if only a short distance. It suits me, too. I don’t think Fortuna cares much for excubitors. We’ve been particularly hard hit, and for every guard who’s fallen ill another has decided to flee the city. I have so few men left, we’re keeping entrances locked rather than guarding them. I don’t think the palace has ever been less secure.”

Felix fell silent for a moment. “Still,” he finally said, “the imperial couple being absent from the palace at a time of great crisis and Peter missing from his kitchen…Perhaps the end is truly at hand.”

“Peter would agree with you on that. Still, I imagine the rest of the court will hasten to their own estates now Justinian and Theodora are leaving. As long as they remained at the palace nobody dared to suggest the possibility.” John refilled his cup and passed the wine jug to Felix. “Before you ask, I’m staying here.”