Mary Reed: Nine for the Devil

“No. I won’t believe it. She was poisoned.”

Despite the hot, smoke-filled air, John felt a chill at Justinian’s matter-of-fact tone. If the emperor had displayed any emotion his irrational statement could have been dismissed as a momentary delusion brought on by grief.

“But how could she have been poisoned?” John asked. “We are in the center of Theodora’s private residence. Few were admitted to see her.” He glanced around the room. Painted angels adorned the walls. A gilded icon depicting the healing saints Cosmas and Damian faced the bed. A chest of inlaid wood sat at its foot. There was a three-legged table with a round marble top crowded by small glass bottles and ceramic pots. As usual an armed excubitor stood outside the only door. “Ask the guard, excellency,” John suggested. “He will tell you no poisoner could have gained entrance.”

Justinian waved his hand dismissively. “He doesn’t know anything. He’s new. The other guards-the ones who failed-I ordered executed before you arrived this morning.”

The emperor smoothed his dead wife’s hair. His features were as motionless as those of the corpse. He might have been wearing a mask to conceal an anguished visage. At times it was not hard to believe Justinian was a demon in human form, as popular rumor had it. Perhaps today he had no anguish or other human emotion to hide but was simply too preoccupied to animate his false face enough into a more human aspect.

“I am also to blame’ Justinian went on. “I allowed the murderer to reach her. I remained at her side, and yet, at times I dozed. And food and drink and potions were given to her, under my gaze. I prayed to the Lord that he take me also. My prayer was not answered, or rather it was answered in the negative. To go on living is the penance I must pay.”

“You should not torture yourself with such thoughts, excellency,” John offered. “The illness simply ran its course.”

“You believe that?”

“I do. Everyone does. It is a fact.”

Justinian’s face remained expressionless. “Nevertheless, I am ordering you to find her murderer. You are an eminently reasonable man, John. When you uncover evidence that she was murdered you will change your view.”

John tried not to show his dismay. During Theodora’s illness no one had so much as hinted there might be anything except natural causes involved. “I will change my view if I find such evidence. But-”

“You will find her murderer. You must. You won’t fail me as her guards did. I am depending on you. The empire is depending on you. Your family is depending on you.”

John thought his heart missed a beat as Justinian turned away.

Was the emperor threatening his family with reprisals if John failed?

Justinian bent toward his dead wife’s face, ran his fingers lightly across her eyelids and lips, ensuring her eyes and mouth remained shut, John supposed, so that no demons might gain admittance. Would the emperor harbor such a peasant superstition if he were indeed a demon?

“Her pain has ended,” Justinian said in a whisper. “Now go and find who did this to her.”

Dismissed, John took a last look at his old adversary. The emaciated hands clasped over her chest resembled claws. The face was yellowish and waxy, inhuman. The disease had eaten at her until the flesh that remained stretched tautly over her plainly visible skull. Although her tightly drawn lips were colorless, John could not help seeing, as he had in the past, the red scimitar of her smile.

As he went out to begin his hopeless investigation, John allowed himself a grim smile. It had been premature to think Theodora no longer threatened him.

“Goddess!” Cornelia cursed. Theodora was gone at last, but she and John were still not free of the empress’ interference.

She made certain all but one of the atrium lamps had been extinguished, checked the bolt on the front door, then went up the steep wooden stairs to the second floor. Peter was supposed to have performed the same tasks before retiring to his room, but the old servant had become forgetful.

Cornelia was nervous. There was no telling what disturbances might break out in the wake of Theodora’s death.

She strode down the dark hallway toward the bedroom. She could see a streak of light from the bedside lamp streaming across octopi and fish in the blue and green floor tiles. Entering the room she took off her sandals and threw them into a corner.

“And don’t tell me I’m bad-tempered, John, “ she said. “I know that. But haven’t we got enough to worry about with Europa refusing a court physician and wanting me to attend her out on Zeno’s estate?”

John was sitting in bed. He picked up the clay lamp to extinguish it as Cornelia turned to take a last look through the open window. The nearby dome of the Great Church, light pouring through hundreds of apertures, radiated an orange dawn into the night sky above cross-bedecked rooftops. Cornelia pulled her linen tunica over her head, and laid it on the chest at the foot of the bed. Only then did the lamplight go out.

She plumped down on the bed so hard it creaked. A muscle in her back joined the bed’s protest. The twinge of pain made her curse again. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“Strange. Watching you, I was thinking you’re still the same beautiful young girl I first met. And you still have the same temper. Surely you’ve attended women before?”

“When I traveled with the bull-leaping troupe. But it’s different when it’s your own flesh and blood.”

“I’m glad you’ll be there. After all, it is our first grandchild.”

Despite the open window the summer night was stifling. She could hear voices drifting from the city. Patrons leaving an inn, tenement residents sitting outdoors late to escape the heat. From further off came the faint barking of a dog. The sounds emphasized the immensity of the world outside and the comfort of their own room. She pulled John down onto the cotton stuffed mattress and pressed herself against his back. Even though he was as damp as she from the humid air, his skin felt cool, as it always did. He never wore fragrances as did most of the aristocrats at court.

Cornelia would miss the feel of him when she tried to sleep at the estate south of the city. “And then there’s Peter,” she said, shifting with practiced precision to match her contours to his. “I suggested he might like an assistant to help run the household while I was gone. He was outraged. Said he was still capable of serving his master. Most emphatic that he didn’t want help.”

“He’s proud, Cornelia. I’ve hinted at a pension more than once but he was quite firm in refusing it. He’s a free man and can leave at any time. Even if he is in his seventies, we must allow him his dignity.”

Cornelia sighed. “‘And you won’t dismiss him.”

John agreed. “I would like him to retire but I won’t force him. It’s not as if we give elaborate banquets. He can still manage his tasks and he’s been a good servant always. All the same, I can’t help but worry. He limps badly when he thinks nobody can see it.”

“You might worry a little more about yourself,” Cornelia replied. “What about this assignment? How can you find a killer who doesn’t exist?”

“Justinian might know more than he is telling me.”

“Even if there was a murderer how would you find him? Most of the population of the city would have killed Theodora if they had the chance. And how many at court didn’t have reason to want her dead?”

“You could be right.”

Cornelia pressed herself more tightly against John’s back. Outside two cats fought raucously and briefly. A slight breeze struggled into the room, barely managing to stir the heavy air. “I’d look into her meddling in family affairs, her unwanted matchmaking. Let the imperial torturers go about their work. Let taxes be increased. Let religious arguments thunder back and forth. That’s expected. But once you interfere in love affairs, even an empress is treading on dangerous ground.”