Mary Reed: Three for a Letter

John had sailed across the Sea of Marmara on an early summer day as dark clouds gathered over the sunlit water. He had been careful to ensure that his taking ship from Constantinople went unobserved.

From the sea, the monastery Balbinus had reluctantly identified as Castor’s hiding place-and then only at Lucretia’s insistence-loomed above the rocky shore like a fortress or a continuance of the rugged cliffs upon which it stood. Its lower stories displayed featureless masonry walls punctuated higher up by slits of windows, while along its roof bristled a profusion of turrets, domes and crosses. Yes, a man who passed into anonymity behind its forbidding doors would be lost forever.

Castor had greeted him warily at first. Then, realizing he had nothing to fear from this particular visitor from court, he had asked eagerly for news of the world he had left behind. John described in detail the rest of the tragic events at Zeno’s estate and their aftermath.

Castor looked extremely upset. “How could I possibly find my quiet life burdensome after such a terrible tale, Lord Chamberlain? Many a king and emperor has ended his days in peaceful contemplation. The fortunate ones, at least. And I shall spend my remaining time in the same way without having had the onerous task of actually ruling anything beforehand.”

“You have salvaged part of your library, I see.” John indicated the low shelf holding a pile of codices.

“Some of my favorites, yes,” the other replied. “So although my body may be confined to this monastery, my world is without limits. Balbinus kindly retrieved them from my library. He’s running my estate for me. Mind you, there’s one volume he couldn’t find that I do rather miss. It’s a history of beauty written by a very obscure philosopher by the name of Philo. He was one of those pagans teaching at Plato’s Academy years ago.”

John gave his thin smile and remarked that he had heard of the man. “Do you suppose Barnabas shares your taste for philosophy and made away with it?” he went on. “I understand he recently came back into Constantinople and took ship, but where he is now I couldn’t say. I’ve no doubt he found the island too confining, especially since he told me he had begun to wonder by what means the current keeper of the goats had supplanted his predecessor. I wouldn’t have thought that the guardians of oracular animals would indulge in murderous intrigues against one another. On the other hand, doubtless Barnabas’ views have been shaped by all the gossip he’s heard when performing at the palace.”

He did not mention that he knew of the mime’s flight because first the stentorian-voiced actor Brontes and then an anonymous Egyptian ship captain, both of whom had spotted Barnabas as he crept away to safety, had arrived separately at Felix’s palace office to demand the reward John had promised them for this very information months before.

“So Fortuna has smiled on Barnabas, if I may be forgiven for saying so in this holy building,” Castor mused. “Few who find themselves in Theodora’s bad graces survive to tell their story.”

John poured them both more wine. “Theodora has ordered the Ostrogoth entourage moved to another estate some distance further down the coast,” he said, “and perhaps it’s just as well.”

He recalled that upon hearing of their relocation Felix had valiantly tried to appear relieved, remarking that he considered the departure of Zeno’s guests exceedingly fortunate since military men could not afford to get romantically involved with anyone. Perhaps, John thought, Felix would eventually persuade himself that this was the truth. Meanwhile, John’s recollection of that conversation reminded him of matters of war.

“Belisarius has finally won his way in Ravenna,” he told Castor, “but as yet there’s been no indication that Justinian plans to put Sunilda forward as Theodoric’s heir.”

“Perhaps his plans are more subtle than that?”

They sat in silence for a while, sipping their wine. A gust of the rising wind rattled the shutters.

“When Balbinus brought your codices, did he tell you about Minthe?” John finally asked.

“Yes, Lord Chamberlain. It grieves me greatly that I never knew her. She would have had a far easier life if I had. But nobody ever told who my mother was or what had become of her. It was a matter that was never to be discussed or even mentioned. Of course, I occasionally saw Minthe from a distance. I feel as if I should grieve for her since she was, after all, my mother, but somehow I can’t quite convince myself…it all seems unreal…I am not describing this very well, I fear.”

John wondered if his own far-off daughter would feel the same way about him should some stealthy blade finally find his back.

“But you surely realize that by attempting to remove Sunilda she was seeking the same high position for you as Theodora?”

Castor’s eyes filled with tears. “No, Lord Chamberlain, I had no notion, no idea at all….”

“Apart from everything else, consider what she claimed the goats were telling Zeno. According to a recent conversation I had with him, they said that, first, sorrow was to be expected.”

“Every life has sorrow in it and some have a lot more than others,” Castor observed. “I would not make much of that, Lord Chamberlain.”

“As you say. Then they supposedly claimed that the tallest knew what Zeno sought. Such a vague statement sounds mysterious and important but of course means nothing.”

Castor agreed. “Surely all this nonsense about goat oracles is your usual case of interpreting vaguely worded statements to fit a given situation?”

John shrugged. “But now consider the third answer provided to Zeno, which was that the twin would follow and take high office. Naturally, Sunilda sprang to mind. However, Castor, you are named after a mythological twin. Obviously this third statement was another ploy by which Minthe contrived to prepare the way for you.”

Castor nodded. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “But to accomplish it by such means….” He hastily gulped down the rest of his wine and then tried to push back his grief by taking refuge in scholarship. “From your description, I’d guess a distillation from poppies was involved. Zeno grows them around one of those pagan shrines of his, you know. You can make an excellent sleeping potion from poppies but it’s deadly in larger doses. Fortunately, however, there’s an antidote. It’s belladonna.”

John gave him an inquiring look.

“Some years ago I made an extensive study of poisonous plants,” Castor explained. “I’ve always been curious about the world and all its wonders, as you’ve probably heard.”

John nodded silently. It had obviously not occurred to Castor that by preparing a deadly potion from a plant found on Zeno’s estate but not in her own garden, Minthe had cleverly arranged to deflect immediate suspicion from herself. As for its antidote, well, while it was true it was a well-known poison, its popularity with Theodora’s ladies-in-waiting as an eye cosmetic provided a legitimate excuse for Minthe to keep a supply on hand, in order to replenish theirs as needed.

The two men were not alone in the room. John could feel another presence, the unspoken thing that both knew must finally be said aloud.

“You know, don’t you?” John asked quietly.

Castor took a quick sip of wine, spilling a few drops on his chest. “Yes. Theodora told me after the banquet. She said it had been an accident but then she went on to say that since Gadaric was now dead, it fortuitously meant only one other heir was left. I am not a violent man, Lord Chamberlain, and certainly not a murderer of little girls.”

The wind banged the shutters even harder and the lamp on the table guttered as a draught found its way into the room.