Mary Reed - Nine for the Devil

“We both have reason to wish the Great Whore gone. I wish my cursed wife was gone!” He gestured wildly with his jug, splashing wine on his tunic. “I shall renounce her for a second time tomorrow and leave the city and be a soldier again!”

“I would advise against it, Artabanes. The empress hasn’t been dead long. Justinian might be inclined to enforce her wish you live with your wife.”

The general hiccuped and turned bloodshot eyes to John. “I know why you’re here. Oh, yes. But note this well. Theodora gave me an excellent defense by her own actions. Even if I managed to murder the entire court without being suspected I still could not marry the woman I love above all others. It’s too late. She’s married Praejecta off. Married her to the son of one of those plotters executed after the Nika riots. My beautiful treasure handed over to a traitor’s son.”

He lifted the jug to his mouth again, found it empty, and flung it clumsily into his wife’s half of the garden.

“Then again, I might kill my beloved’s husband,” he continued, bleary eyes brightening. “The idea has crossed my mind once or twice, I confess. Yes. A blade between the ribs. The soldier’s way. None of this poisoning business. That’s for women and eunuchs. But sssh, don’t say it too loudly. Spies, you know. Spies everywhere. Might give the bitch ideas.”

“I am told you tried to convey some ideas to General Germanus. Treasonous ideas. About how he would make a better emperor than Justinian.”

“Who could argue with that?”

“The emperor’s Lord Chamberlain might. Did you in fact visit Germanus?”

“Yes. We have both served in Libya.”

“And did you hint that you might be interested in seeing Justinian replaced? I had the impression Germanus considered you quite capable of having murdered Theodora. To weaken Justinian’s will.”

Artabanes reached under the bench, produced another jug, and lifted it to his lips. Wine dribbled down his chin. “I don’t recall saying anything. Then again, I don’t remember half of what I say these days. Thankfully.”

“Because you are perpetually intoxicated.”

“Praise the Lord for the fruit of Bacchus.” Artabanes waved the jug and emitted another belch.

John decided it was quite possible a man in Artabanes’ state might say things he didn’t mean and fail to remember what he said. Artabanes seemed too intoxicated to be properly interrogated. On the other hand, his wine-liberated ramblings supported his innocence, at least at first impression. Unless it was all for show. Still, revenge was said to be as sweet as honey and if Artabanes could not have the wife he wanted, perhaps he felt it only fitting Justinian should lose Theodora.

“I won’t trouble you further,” John said and started to rise.

Artabanes grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back onto the bench. “You see a drunken fool,” he said thickly. “This is what the imperial couple has done to me. I am a brave man, Lord Chamberlain. A hero. Who was it saved Libya from the rebels?”

“I am certain Justinian appreciates-”

“Let me tell you how it was. Let me tell you. We were invited to a banquet by the tyrant. His name was Gontharis. Imagine the scene. He sat right beside me, exactly as you are. So then, Lord Chamberlain, imagine you are the tyrant. A merry tyrant, gorging yourself, offering choice morsels to the guards who stand behind you. Let us suppose those shrubs there are the guards. The tyrant is drinking. He is very drunk. Perhaps not as drunk as I am right now, but drunk enough.”

“Yes. I have heard-”

Artabanes plunged ahead, slurring his words. “Suddenly, as planned, one of my men rushes into the hall. Straight at the tyrant he runs, sword bared. A servant shouts a warning. The tyrant turns. ‘What is this? What did you say?’ He cups a hand to his ear.”

Artabanes pushed himself to his feet, made a wide slashing motion with his arm. John ducked his head to avoid being hit.

“The sword comes down. Slices a flap of scalp and cuts off two fingers. One of the fingers splashes into my wine. But the tyrant leaps to his feet. Leaps, Lord Chamberlain! I must show you! Stand up. Stand up.”

John got up reluctantly. Artabanes reached inside his own tunic and brought out his hand with the index and forefinger pointing straight out.

“I draw my dagger. A two-edged dagger. A wicked thing. Death to the tyrant! Blood’s spewing from the stumps of his severed fingers. He can hardly see because that gory scrap of loose scalp is flopping in his face. I don’t hesitate. I lunge with the dagger. Plunge it into the beast’s side. Up to the hilt.”

He took a tottering step and shot his hand forward, poking John’s side painfully with his stiff fingers.

“The tyrant falls!” Artabanes sounded jubilant.

John took a step away but did not fall.

Artabanes face was a fiery red, sweat beaded on his smooth, broad forehead. He smelled like a tavern. “Then we take care of the guards.”

He started lashing his invisible dagger at the shrubbery. Leaves flew like green flesh. Artabanes reeled forward, banged his knee on the bench, and tumbled across it and into the foliage, where he thrashed around in panic before finally ending up on his back.

He lay there in the embrace of the branches and looked up at John. “It was wonderful. I was a warrior then, Lord Chamberlain, and look what I’ve become.”

John helped him to his feet, grimacing at the wine fumes which seemed to be seeping from the man’s every pore.

“So is it any wonder Praejecta fell in love with me as soon as I unlocked the door to her room?” Artabanes raved on. “I was still soaked in blood. Her rescuer, the avenger of her cowardly husband. She was mine. She is mine, by right! She gave herself to me willingly. Eagerly. A toast to Fortuna for arranging the Great Whore’s long agony!” Artabanes raised his hand and realized he was holding neither cup nor jug. “Ah, well. I just wish her torment had lasted as long as my miserable marriage.”

A breeze wandered into the garden and was strangled by the stifling heat. Snatches of song passed them, carried on a tantalizing smell of frying onion.

“I suppose your kitchen is cut in half too?”

“Oh yes. Yes, it is. But, you know, onions cut in one side still make eyes on the other side water. That’s how it goes, isn’t it? Just how it always goes.”

Artabanes wandered away abruptly.

John decided it was his opportunity to escape. Perhaps his thoughts would march in better order if he was somewhere cooler.

Somewhere along the coast perhaps.

He could go to Zeno’s estate and surprise Cornelia and the others.

If it weren’t for this hopeless investigation. He could not leave the city with Justinian likely to summon him at any time.

Since he had to stay, a long walk round the city would be helpful in ordering his thoughts, as it had been on numerous occasions.

John left quietly, while Artabanes urinated across the border.

A flash of white hurtled from the open doorway straight at John’s face. He put his hand up just in time and the object smacked against his palm. His fingers curled over a smooth surface. When he opened his hand he saw he was holding an unbroken egg.

He went into the inn wedged between the towering walls of the Hippodrome and the looming fortresslike Baths of Zeuxippos. The scale of the world changed as he stepped out of the darkness into a brightly lit room where smoke hung against a low ceiling.

Laughter greeted him.

It was Felix and Gaius, sitting at a table near the entrance.

“You’ve still got a fighter’s reflexes, John,” Felix called out.

John made himself smile in greeting and sat on a stool next to the two. He seldom stopped for a cup of wine so near to the palace. He preferred places where he was less likely to run into, or be observed by, members of the imperial court. That usually didn’t apply to friends, but John would have preferred this evening to have a quick, solitary drink before hurrying home to find out what news there was, if any. The more troubled he was, the less John wanted company.