Mary Reed - Nine for the Devil

Preoccupied with concern for Peter and having nothing to give anyway Hypatia barely noticed the man. She hurried past with a shake of her head. She hoped Peter would not panic when he realized she was gone. She hoped in particular that he would not try to get out of bed.

A footstep sounded behind her. Before she could swing around or shriek, a hand clamped over her mouth and she was dragged through an open doorway. It happened so quickly it was unlikely any passersby had noticed, even more unlikely that strangers would come to her aid.

“Charity, lady, for the love of heaven,” leered the beggar she had ignored. His tone sounded quite different and he was suddenly spry and two-legged.

Hypatia bit his hand. Her attacker yanked it away and as she started to scream smacked her face hard with his other hand. She fell to the ground, stunned. By the time she regained her senses the hand was clamped over her mouth again. The air smelled of ashes. From the little she could see in the dimness they were inside a fire gutted store.

The erstwhile cripple bent over her. “Maybe I should let you shout, lady. There’s plenty who would like to share in your charity! After all, what is one more man? Or a couple of men?” He tore a strip of cloth from the hem of her tunic, stuffed it roughly into her mouth, and rolled her onto her back.

Half choking, Hypatia stared up at him. How could she have allowed her attention to wander while out on the streets by herself? A child would have known better. If only she could go back to the point when she had watched Vesta emerge from Anatolius’ house. She should never have followed her. She would be home now, tending to Peter. She forced herself not to think of it. Whatever happened, she would not plead with her assailant.

“Not going to struggle?” The beggar sounded disappointed. “Perhaps a little encouragement…?” His hands closed around her neck.

Then, as if mad with rage, he screamed.

***

As John started down the Mese on his way home, he told himself he had lingered too long with Anatolius. Talking about current events over a cup of wine, Anatolius had seemed less wary, more himself. Even so, John sensed an unusual undercurrent. Was his old friend trying too hard to appear himself? Did he speak too lightly and at too much length? Did he smile too broadly? Or was it that John was exhausted and overly suspicious?

He would never have registered the familiar sight of a beggar emerging from the side of the Hippodrome and settling down in front of a row of vacant shops if Hypatia had not appeared almost immediately from the same direction.

He increased his pace to catch up with her. He saw the beggar hold out his hand as she passed where he squatted on his rags.

Then John saw the beggar leap to his feet, nimbly, despite the walking stick he’d displayed.

As the assailant dragged Hypatia into a fire-gutted shop, John sprinted toward them.

He heard Hypatia scream.

He increased his pace and dodged around two laborers on their way to work. A ragged woman jumped out of his path and stared incredulously after the tall, lean man racing as if pursued by demons.

Finally he burst into the burnt-out building. It took an instant for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. Then he saw the beggar kneeling over Hypatia, his hands around her neck.

John stepped forward before the beggar realized he was there and reaching around the man’s face dug his fingers into the eye sockets.

The attacked man shrieked. Twisted away. Elbowed John in the stomach. Though he must have been half blinded, he stumbled out onto the Mese and ran, weaving back and forth.

John didn’t bother to pursue him. He helped Hypatia to her feet instead.

“I’m all right, master,” She assured him, brushing ashes off her torn tunic. Her voice quavered.

It was sheer good fortune John had happened to be on hand to save her from assault. He did not like having to rely on fortune.

“I thought I would never see you again, master. I thought they had come to…” Her voice quavered.

“The emperor had a sudden urge to discuss theology,” John replied. Already the night had taken on the quality of half recalled nightmare, a confused jumble of horror and incongruity, in which the incongruities were somehow as terrifying as the obvious threats.

They walked slowly down the Mese. When Hypatia regained her composure she recounted her visit to Anatolius.

John listened with increasing concern and bemusement. That Vesta had gone directly from Anatolius’ house to the palace gardens and then to Antonina’s house suggested the possibility of connections, not only between Vesta and those she had visited, but between Antonina and Anatolius.

In addition, the man who attacked Hypatia had been unusually quick and strong for a beggar.

“Are you certain you weren’t observed by anyone at Antonina’s house?” John asked Hypatia.

“I didn’t see any guards posted outside,” she said.

That she hadn’t noticed any guards didn’t mean no one was watching. Or she could have been followed, even as she was following Vesta. Unaccompanied women were frequently assaulted in the streets. It struck John as strange Hypatia should just happen to be attacked after seeing Vesta visit Antonina. He thought of how Germanus had sent one of his guards to subtly threaten John after being questioned.

Yet he could see no way that Antonina could have ordered such an attack, so quickly, even if someone had spotted Hypatia lingering outside the house.

No, John decided, there had probably been no connection. He was trying so hard to find connections where there were none-to find a link between Theodora’s death and someone at court-that he was beginning to see them where nothing existed.

He left Hypatia at his house.

As much as he would have liked to visit Peter, and have a bite to eat and a rest, he had other business to attend to first.

Vesta greeted him at Joannina’s rooms in the womens’ quarters.

She must have left Antonina’s house shortly after Hypatia had turned around and headed back home.

“Lord Chamberlain! I shall fetch my mistress at once.”

“After I speak with you, Vesta. I am told you picked foxglove leaves from the palace gardens and took them to Antonina.”

The attendant looked at him like a frightened child. Again he noted the mousy brown hair, the overly long nose, the protrudent front teeth. John found it hard to imagine Anatolius carrying on an affair with this homely, half-formed adolescent despite the apparent evidence.

“It’s true that I delivered them to Lady Antonina. She uses foxglove in her herbal preparations.”

“What sort of preparations?”

“All kinds. It’s a common ingredient. It’s often used for love potions.” She blushed.

“Your mistress and her mother are estranged. She doesn’t approve of your mistress’ liaison with Anastasius.”

“Oh, excellency. It’s more than an affair. Empress Theodora intended them to marry and they will marry unless-”

“Unless Antonina prevents it. So how is it you are permitted to assist Antonina and go back and forth between the two households?”

“My mistress is trying to mend things between them.”

Not to mention using you to spy on Antonina, John thought.

Vesta bit her lip. “It’s been tiring. So many extra chores. And sometimes it’s been terrifying. I have to be out in the city at night, unattended. Because, you see, the ladies don’t want anyone to know they are availing themselves of Lady Antonina’s services.”

“Services such as love potions?”

“Yes. I suppose that might be it. Lady Antonina never reveals to me what the ladies have ordered.”

John, thinking of Hypatia’s recent observations, accepted the truth of this part at least of Vesta’s statements. “Did Antonina have you take anything to Theodora during her illness?”