Mary Reed - Nine for the Devil

“You are the one who mentioned slander.”

“It was more than a decade since I was appointed. And it wasn’t as if I sought the position. Pope Agapetus asked me to take it. If Theodora had a grievance with anyone it was with Agapetus. As for Theodora and I, we reconciled long since, even if her views were less than orthodox.”

“That hardly needs to be said. At any rate, Vigilius told me as much.”

“So he was being honest for once.” Menas shook his head vehemently, causing his long beard to tremble. “A troublesome man. When he first arrived he cut me off from the table of the Lord for four months. I wish Justinian would send him back to Rome.”

“You can hardly blame him for being unhappy. He was after all abducted from church forcibly and transported here.” John was remembering his own recent abduction.

“Abducted? Rescued, you mean. The populace was so disgusted they threw stones at his ship as it sailed off. He had no business becoming pope in the first place. Theodora sent him to Rome with a fortune in gold and orders to Belisarius to install him on the papal throne.”

“Do you think Vigilius would have sought to harm the empress?”

“Physically, you mean? I know what is being said but I would never accuse him of murder.”

“Tell me, did you visit Theodora while she was ill? She must have sought spiritual guidance. She wouldn’t have allowed Vigilius to offer it, but she might have accepted comfort from you as patriarch.”

“She seldom summoned me after she took to her sickbed, Lord Chamberlain. She did not seem interested in receiving clergymen, or at least I was never informed of her asking to see one.”

“Odd behavior, I would say,” John offered.

“Very unusual. Perhaps she regretted her heretical leanings or maybe she took comfort from Justinian. He is after all God’s representative on earth.”

They continued to speak for a short time. Menas appeared satisfied Vigilius had said nothing to John which might cause Menas trouble, and John managed to avoid being drawn into further theological discussions.

Both being satisfied, they went their separate ways, John back to the house he had not expected to see again.

Hypatia thanked Anatolius and left his house. She was sure there had been someone observing her from the office. Who could possibly be there on business at this hour?

As she left, she saw the gatekeeper grinning to himself. Anatolius must have been entertaining a woman when Hypatia arrived. That was it. The gatekeeper suspected there had been trouble.

She came out of the passage and started across the small forum from which it led. In the forum’s center a statue of an emperor or some lesser forgotten luminary appeared to be wading in a fountain basin.

When she reached the corner of the street leading in the direction of the palace she paused.

A sudden impulse caused her to look back.

It wasn’t her business who Anatolius chose to entertain. Peter was more important than Anatolius’ love affairs.

But why had Anatolius been anxious for Hypatia to leave? What did he care whether John’s servant caught a glimpse of his lady friend?

As she stood in the shadows a figure emerged from the passage.

A woman dressed in a bright blue stola.

Vesta.

Joannina’s lady-in-waiting glanced around and then walked toward Hypatia.

Hypatia backed quickly into a doorway.

Vesta appeared to be in a hurry. She went by with her eyes down, so close Hypatia could smell her perfume. If she noticed a form in the shadowy doorway she must have taken it for a drowsing beggar.

Hypatia waited long enough to be certain Vesta was well on her way and then set off at a brisk pace for the palace.

She did not have time to ponder why Anatolius apparently had not wanted her to see Joannina’s lady-in-waiting. Having done what she could for John, her thoughts turned to Peter.

If Gaius were fit to treat the empress surely he was qualified to care for an elderly servant? But physicians were not always mindful enough of their patients’ comfort. Surely it wouldn’t interfere with Peter’s treatment if she made a potion to relieve pain. She could collect the necessary ingredients from Gaius’ herb garden on the way back.

Once on the palace grounds she took the wide path used by carters and others to ferry supplies to the kitchens. Now the sun had risen further, and shadows cast by lines of trees barred the path. Through the trees could be glimpsed the vegetable beds where Hypatia spent much of her time cultivating those needed for culinary purposes.

At its far end the path forked, one side leading to the kitchen buildings and the other to an open space where carts unloaded boxes of eggs, slabs of fly-encrusted meat, barrels of fish, sacks of flour, crates of fruit, and other supplies. Passing through the vegetable garden beyond would bring her out on a walkway providing a short cut to Gaius’ herb garden. It was a familiar route for Hypatia, who often took it when returning from an early morning visit to the market, but wished to pick fresher herbs for sauces or stews than those offered in the city.

She again thought of Peter left alone and quickened her step, ignoring the jests of three burly men carrying amphorae into the back door of the kitchens. She soon reached a large grove of pine trees shading a marble statue of Poseidon guarding a fish pond. Created to resemble an open space in a wood, the shrubby glade featured patches of ferns and wild flowers clustered here and there among moss-covered boulders. Poseidon’s fish, ornamental rather than destined to be served at the imperial table, lived in a rocky, shadow-dappled pool fed by a trickling stream.

A flicker of movement caught Hypatia’s eye as she passed the entrance to the grove.

Vesta was visible just behind Poseidon, working in a tall patch of foxgloves alive with the humming of bees going to and fro between the flowers’ purple fingers. Vesta kept looking around, furtively, as she stooped to collect foxglove leaves she put into a small bag.

When she first arrived at the Great Palace, Hypatia had been surprised the showy flowers were permitted to flourish on the grounds. They were praised by physicians for treating affectations of the heart, but she knew the purple spikes were also the source of a deadly poison and thus perhaps not the wisest choice of plantings in a court whose members would kill to advance a step in the hierarchy or eliminate a rival for an obscure imperial post.

Recollection of poison reminded Hypatia of John’s seemingly impossible task of finding Theodora’s poisoner, if indeed such a person existed.

Was the poison Justinian believed had been used to murder Theodora been brewed with these or other examples of the beautiful if deadly plant?

And to what purpose would Vesta put the material she was secretly gathering?

Intrigued, Hypatia hid behind a nearby summerhouse until Vesta emerged from the grove, and followed her a second time through the rapidly growing crowds in the city’s thoroughfares.

Vesta’s destination lay in the shadow of the Hippodrome.

Antonina’s house.

John found his house door locked. He knocked, waited, and tried again. There was no response.

He looked up at the second story window of his study. The diamond-shaped panes showed only muddled reflections.

He raised his fist to pound harder, then paused to think. If Hypatia were there she would have answered. She must have gone out, and Peter wouldn’t be able to navigate the stairs even if he could hear John’s knock up on the third floor.

It would be best if Peter didn’t hear because if he did, he might foolishly attempt to get out of bed.