Mary Reed - Nine for the Devil

“Now, Anastasius, really,” Joannina tutted.

John smiled to himself. It seemed obvious Joannina was not going to tell him anything useful while Anastasius was present to distract her. “Enjoy your ride before the heat sets in for the day.”

Joannina beamed with obvious relief. “Why, thank you, Lord Chamberlain.”

“We will talk soon,” added John.

Her face fell.

John left. He noticed the sparrow busily pecking at its nest, tidying up its grass and twigs, oblivious to the lives and loves and intrigues of the imperial court.

John decided to visit Theodora’s sickroom before leaving what had been her quarters. He navigated scurrying crowds of servants, eunuchs, and pages. The empress’ residence continued to function under its own momentum, mindlessly, even though its center was gone.

To John’s chagrin, Justinian’s treasurer Narses was in the sickroom, scratching a list of its contents on a wax tablet. “Justinian has ordered everything loose be packed up,” Narses told him. “If you must examine the place, please hurry.”

The dwarfish man’s fluty tone caused John to bristle. “I’ll decide how long I need, Narses.”

A sour smile flickered across Narses’ face. “As you wish. I do not want to linger here in case Justinian returns. He intends to have the room sealed. I have always been a cautious man, Lord Chamberlain. Since we are conversing in confidence, I will say that, given Justinian appears to have been deranged by Theodora’s death, I fear he might decide to entomb anyone remaining in here when it’s closed off.”

It would be ironic, John thought, if Narses proved to be correct and they were condemned to die in the same tiny room as Theodora had, watched over by the angels painted on the walls.

He did not find it very likely.

He looked around. The dismantled bed was stacked in a corner, its mattress atop it. Neatly folded bed linen lay on the chest of inlaid wood, now sitting against a wall. The marble-topped table stood beside the chest. The gilded icon still hung opposite the spot where Theodora had lain.

“What is in the chest?”

Narses shook his head. “I have not investigated, and since you are here, I’ll leave that task to you.”

John removed the bed linen and opened the chest. It was half filled with the small bottles he had seen at Theodora’s bedside. Wrapped in linen and of varying sizes, the bottles were manufactured of green or blue glass. So far as he could tell, all had been washed. Had any original contents remained, the normal procedure would have been to feed them to dogs taken off the street to gauge the effects.

“You won’t find the culprit hiding in there,” Narses remarked.

John ignored the comment.

“I have given the matter some thought,” Narses continued, “and it is evident anyone near the emperor-need I point out that includes both of us? — is not going to be safe until his desire for revenge has been satisfied. Who knows in which direction he will lash out once his first grief has worn off?”

“I can only attempt to do as ordered,” John replied. He was aware of the cloying fragrance Narses used to scent his robes filling the confined space.

“If the empress was poisoned, even if you had a suspect, how can you prove the act? I am going to give you good advice, Lord Chamberlain. Everyone has enemies. Name someone. Anyone. Then let the imperial torturers discover the evidence.”

“Enough innocent blood has been spilt because of the empress. I will not add to it.”

“It is unwise to speak so freely at any time, and especially at this time.”

John continued to unpack the chest. A set of ceramic pots came under scrutiny. These too had been scoured clean.

“Nothing to be learned here in my opinion,” Narses commented. “But having done my duty I must hasten back to my office and leave you to continue. I hope you find something useful, for both our sakes. But when you don’t, remember my advice.”

John gave a curt farewell without looking up. He delved further into the chest. There remained only one last layer, carefully-wrapped bulkier items placed lowest that they might not crush delicate glassware or pots. First out was a large earthenware receptacle, a kind of bowl. A wash basin perhaps. There was also a lidded ceramic jar. It bore the stamp of the imperial kitchens on the bottom. It may have held olives because what appeared to be an olive tree was embossed in its side.

Setting the jar aside, he next removed an alabaster casket decorated with a pastoral motif. Gentle-faced sheep grazed on a hill, guarded by a youthful shepherd. An allegorical scene. The contents of the casket proved to be far removed from the pleasant country setting, for it contained a collection of jewelry. The dull light quenched its glitter as he examined a few pieces: amethysts strung on a finely-worked gold necklace, a pair of crescent earrings supporting three chains of pearls apiece, a set of silver bracelets decorated with cloisonné enameling.

Had Theodora kept the jewelry close at hand to admire or had she insisted on wearing it, deathly ill and all but unrecognizable as she had become?

Free of its wrappings, the final artifact was revealed to be a plain silver bell. No doubt it had been used to summon attendants sitting in the corridor.

John gave the bell an experimental flourish.

As if summoned by its sweet, piercing tone Justinian opened the door and stepped into the room.

As John left the palace grounds and walked along the Mese the image of Justinian’s haunted face accompanied him. Had the emperor, passing by the sickroom, opened the door at the summons of the bell? Or had he simply stepped into the room by chance at the instant John had rung it? Was he startled to find John there? Had he expected to see the wife he had buried two days before, still alive, ringing for assistance?

John thought he noticed the emperor’s face change when he saw who was in the room. But the transformation occurred so rapidly John could not be sure what had been replaced. Had hope given way to disappointment? Joy to grief? By the time John fully registered Justinian’s entrance there was nothing to be seen except the usual tired, flaccid mask.

John was left with the impression that there had been another face an instant before, perhaps not entirely human.

He had to admit that Narses was probably right. The emperor was in such a disturbed state of humors that he could lash out in any direction, including in John’s, or, more importantly, in the direction of John’s family.

John had excused himself quickly, explaining to the emperor he was on his way to an interview in furtherance of his investigation. It was true. He wanted to speak to a friend and informant of long-time acquaintance about Kuria, the attendant Theodora had plucked from a brothel. There was nothing his friend Madam Isis did not know about the city’s brothels.

He could not help but think of her as Madam Isis, though the nature of her establishment had changed within the past year. The building, set in a semicircular courtyard accessible through a nondescript archway, had been one of the best houses in the city, according to both its mistress and such of its patrons who frequented the palace and were wont to brag about their vices.

Now the gilded Eros which had guarded the entrance had been replaced with a gilded cross. Gone from the long, door-lined corridor beyond were the explicit mosaic plaques announcing the services available in each cubicle. The previous summer the place had displayed lewd statuary, colorful wall paintings, and a staff of scantily silk-clad girls. Now it boasted only whitewashed walls relieved by a few stern icons.