Mary Reed - Nine for the Devil

“The marriage is already scheduled.”

“Do you think Antonina cares? It’s just as well. You don’t want to be a lady-in-waiting forever.”

“What do you mean, Kuria? I love working for Joannina.”

“Yes, but you really want to find a husband at court, don’t you? Isn’t that what all ladies-in-waiting want? Well, we’ve talked about it often enough, haven’t we? Not that those of us who are former whores are likely to snag anyone.”

“Those of us who are homely aren’t likely to find anyone either. Not with all the gorgeous aristocratic women looking for their own men.”

“Well, you’re not exactly ugly, Vesta. You can make up for homeliness…” Kuria dropped her voice to a whisper. “…in other ways.”

“Not if you are innocent.” Vesta bit her lip. “Maybe you could teach me what you know. I mean, what it is men like.”

Kuria chuckled. “Men aren’t particular. It’s not like cooking. It doesn’t take much skill.”

“That can’t be true. You said you learned some skills, that they taught you something when you came to the city.”

“Mostly we know how to avoid getting pregnant and what draught to take when we got pregnant despite our precautions.”

“You’ve been pregnant?”

“More than once.”

“How awful! My poor friend. Just thinking about it…and all the men…different men all the time…” Vesta flushed.

Kuria looked wistful. Her eyes lost their focus, as if they were fixed on something far outside her room in the palace. “There were special men sometimes. They gave me gifts. They told me secrets they wouldn’t share with their wives. It wasn’t all bad.”

She jumped up from the bed, opened a chest at its foot, and rummaged through silks and enameled boxes. She pulled out a rolled sheet of parchment and handed it to Vesta. “Read this.”

Vesta unrolled the parchment and her gaze moved across the handwriting.

When she finished the color had drained from her fact, her hands shook, and her features were suffused by a look of utter horror.

John did not catch up with Gaius but finally tracked him down to his surgery in the administrative complex.

The physician was professionally noncommittal when questioned about the outlook for Peter. The shock of the injury had unbalanced Peter’s humors, he said, a serious matter in a septuagenarian. He hoped his concoctions would help restore the balance. The bones had not torn through the skin, so there was less chance of infection. That was a positive aspect to the accident.

The surgery was an airy, whitewashed room brightened by light from windows facing on a wide lawn which ran up to a porticoed structure, another wing of the building where John and Gaius sat. Numerous shelves supported lidded pots alongside jars and bottles containing potions or powdered ingredients. A long bench set under the row of windows held trays of bronze or steel scalpels, probes, bone drills, spathomeles used for mixing and spreading medicinal preparations, hooks, forceps of various sizes, a collection presenting a mute demonstration of the range of treatments a palace physician might be called upon to perform at any time.

They also reminded John of certain instruments to be found in the torture chambers beneath the palace.

Gaius looked as if he had been invited to a chat in those subterranean chambers when John began questioning him further about Theodora. The physician groaned, shook his head sadly, and ran a hand over his perspiration-beaded scalp. “Her death is making a lot of us ill. I have a suitable medication.”

He lumbered over to a shelf lined with large jars full of reddish liquid, which turned out to be wine. He poured some into two smaller jars, seated himself, and pushed John’s inelegant drinking vessel across the table where they sat. “Administer this as needed. It’s a good home remedy for wondering what the empire will come to now that Theodora is dead.”

John took a swallow. It set the back of his throat on fire. He coughed.

“My patients need it to be strong, considering some of the procedures I must perform,” Gaius explained. “You didn’t think I’d keep my office stocked with anything that had no medical purpose, did you?”

John regarded his jar dolefully. “I hope you keep a remedy for this remedy on hand. And to think my taste in wine has been criticized…”

The round table where they sat in a corner of the room could have come from a tavern. It was a table Gaius no doubt felt comfortable using when he talked with his patients, before instructing them to move to the long marble-topped slab in the center of the room. More often than not Gaius would have visited his aristocratic clients at their homes. His surgery was where palace workers who were taken ill or injured would be brought. It was also where those of loftier birth came, surreptitiously, to speak of matters too delicate to be broached at home.

“I know it’s being whispered Antonina poisoned Theodora because she will not stop the marriage of that unfortunate young couple,” Gaius observed. “Not to mention Antonina’s notorious for her potions and practice of magick. After all, what is an old friendship worth compared to getting the result you want? But as I keep telling you, the empress wasted away. It’s as simple as that. As you said, if she had been a beggar or a grocer’s wife no one would think twice about it. Sad to say, it happens all the time. And, yes, even to empresses. Besides, she was already as good as dead. The disease had poisoned her more horribly than any deadly herb.”

“Don’t people recover from it, Gaius?”

“Not in my experience.”

“Justinian has had two miraculous recoveries, and one was from the plague.”

“This was different.”

John nodded. “But even supposing Theodora was bound to die soon, I understand Joannina and Anastasius are to be wed before July is over. They’ve already been betrothed for what? Six months?”

Gaius gave a snort. “What Theodora called betrothed, you mean.”

“What I am pointing out is even though Theodora’s death was certain and imminent, Antonina would have had good reason to speed its arrival. The same might be true of others.”

“Except there was no sign of poisoning,” Gaius retorted. “As I have already told you.”

“Would any signs have been noticeable given the ravaged state she was in?”

“Possibly not. You might have a point there.”

“Did Theodora take any medications aside from those you gave her?”

“Not in my presence, but I’m sure she did. There was always a jumble of bottles and jars at her bedside. Cosmetics, lotions, ointments, and who knows what else. I tried to keep an eye out to ensure there was nothing harmful, but she didn’t appreciate my examining her things and she was the empress. I warned Justinian to watch that she wasn’t taking too much or this and that I had not prescribed.”

John leaned back in his straight-backed wooden chair and sipped Gaius’ therapeutic wine carefully. “Tell me this, then. Is there any poison that would mimic the disease Theodora had?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Or cause it?”

“I’ve never heard of one.”

“Or make it worse? Something that might not exactly poison but add to the fire that was already consuming her body? Or that might weaken her ability to heal? That might muddle the humors?”

Gaius laughed. “John, you pose questions Galen or Hippocrates himself couldn’t answer. This disease she had is little understood. Nothing helps. It has been called the crab. Malignant tumors start to grow under the skin. The swollen blood vessels around the tumor resemble a crab’s claws. It devours the body just as crabs scour the flesh of corpses on the sea floor. But these crabs gnaw from within, like demons. And they keep growing, fattening on the flesh and organs of the victim. You know what I’ve heard? That this monstrous disease was the true child of her union with the King of the Demons.”