Mary Reed - Nine for the Devil

“At the time I thought the Cappadocian was safely confined in Egypt.”

Anatolius’ expression was unreadable. Apparently the flighty and emotional young poet of the past had learned some lawyerly skills.

John asked bluntly what, exactly, Anatolius was doing on behalf of the Cappadocian.

“In general, he wants me to investigate whether he can reclaim certain properties confiscated when he was exiled. He thinks it might be possible because Justinian did allow him to maintain considerable wealth in Egypt despite being disgraced. It is his opinion it was only on account of Theodora’s animosity that he was deprived of office. I can’t go into specifics.”

“In other words, he heard of Theodora’s illness, decided she would soon leave the world, and decided he should get a head start on returning to his former prominence?”

“He hasn’t said as much, but I gather that’s correct. You know what a favorite he is with Justinian. As soon as the emperor conquers his grief he’ll be issuing orders for the Cappadocian’s return.”

“How long has he been back in the capital?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“When did you first see him?”

Anatolius met John’s gaze. “You know I should not discuss a client.”

“He was here before Theodora’s death? That would make him an obvious suspect, as I have already pointed out.”

“I am representing him in land dealings, straining my eyes over dusty documents. I have had no reason to question him about other matters.”

“Both he and you are aware there are other matters involved, not least the fact he is in the city illegally, otherwise he wouldn’t be creeping in your back gate in the middle of the night. Whatever the Cappadocian might be up to, you will naturally be implicated. Justinian won’t care whether you were serving as the man’s lawyer or not.”

“You can’t think I am working against the emperor?”

“I would prefer not to think so, Anatolius. Where is the Cappadocian staying when he is not here seeking your aid?”

“I cannot say.”

“Does that mean you won’t say, or that he hasn’t told you?”

“It isn’t my business to know where he’s living.”

“Spoken like a true lawyer.”

“I’m surprised, John. You’re a man of principle. I thought you would understand I have my own duties as a lawyer.”

“We also have duties as friends, Anatolius. Your association with the Cappadocian puts you in grave danger. And yes, before you say it, if I fail to find a murderer for Justinian, I am in danger too.”

Anatolius started to reply, stopped. His gaze wandered from John’s face, fell to the skull in the desk top. He pushed an opened codex over the leering face. “So you intend to offer up the hated Cappadocian as a sacrificial lamb?”

“That’s not what I meant,” John snapped with evident anger.

“I apologize, John.” Anatolius paused. “We shouldn’t argue over this matter. We both have our duties. I will arrange for you to speak with the Cappadocian. Will that suffice? Perhaps he will see fit to tell you things he has not told me or that I am not at liberty to reveal. But not here. Not at my house. I will make arrangements. Come back tomorrow and-”

“No. Today, Anatolius. I will speak with the Cappadocian today.”

“I can’t guarantee that my client…” Anatolius stopped and shook his head wearily. “All right, John. I will see what I can do. Come back after midday.”

***

The sun was a blinding orb of molten glass as John walked slowly and pensively back home. The streets throbbed with heat, all surfaces-the pavements, columns, bronze statues, brick edifices, and John’s skin-blazed with it.

Felix and Anatolius had both lied to him.

His two oldest friends.

Felix had either concealed the fact one of his watchmen had spotted the Cappadocian, or he had lied about sending watchmen. Did Felix know Anatolius had been meeting the Cappadocian and yet had not told John?

And what was the real reason Felix had not been seen at the mithraeum for so long? Were Vesta’s visits to Anatolius truly about legal matters? If the men had lied to John about the Cappadocian how could he expect them to be telling the truth about anything else?

Had he got anywhere at all with his investigation? Had he learned anything beyond the obvious fact that numerous powerful people might have wanted the empress dead?

Artabanes would have seen it as revenge for Theodora foiling the marriage he desired. Antonina, on the other hand, could save her daughter Joannina from the marriage Theodora had been forcing upon her. With Theodora’s interference gone, Germanus might finally be elevated to the level of power he was arguably entitled to as Justinian’s cousin. And now there was the Cappadocian, who would not only revel in the death of his imperial persecutor but also, perhaps, be allowed to return to power.

He had at least confirmed that very few had had access to the empress-ladies-in-waiting, clergymen, a physician-none of whom appeared to have any reason to wish her dead. In fact, all had every reason to want her to continue to live, if only to keep their employment and remain free from possible accusations.

As he crossed the square to his house John found his thoughts instantly drawn away from these puzzles by concern for his daughter Europa and for Peter.

“Mithra,” he muttered. Was he getting old to be unable to concentrate on his work, distracted by family matters?

Hypatia answered his knock, tears in her reddened eyes.

“What is it, Hypatia? Peter?”

She wiped her eyes, nodded, and showed him a trembling smile.

“He’s cured, Lord Chamberlain! Completely himself again and furious his broken leg won’t let him jump out of bed. It’s as if one of his angels visited during the night.”

John didn’t believe in miracles. How could a smear of lamp oil on a forehead heal? Why would an elderly man who had journeyed to Egypt and obtained a flask of oil be cured while elsewhere in Constantinople other old men, who had never set foot far beyond the city gates, were dying?

He did not believe in omens either. Lightning had struck the column of Arkadios because it towered above anything else in that part of the city. The strike had not presaged the death of Theodora or calamity for the empire.

However, John the Cappadocian did believe in omens. It was said he consulted oracles and sorcerers. Was that why he had arranged to meet with the Lord Chamberlain at the column of Arkadios?

The Forum of Arkadios was comparatively small, populated with ancient statuary, a peculiar gathering of all but forgotten pagan gods and unfamiliar emperors.

John entered the forum warily. There were only a few passersby. The sun was still high enough to press the full weight of its heat down onto the open space.

John was not certain he could trust Anatolius’ word that he was not being sent into an ambush, and his lack of trust distressed him.

There was no sign of the Cappadocian.

Had John been tricked?

He walked toward the column. Constructed of dark green serpentine, it rose from a massive base of red granite. A continuous frieze winding around the column depicted the military triumphs of an emperor who, like Justinian, had never ventured onto the battlefield. A sculptor’s chisel could make a man a hero as readily as his own sword, and with considerably less risk.

A charred line ran down the side of the column. Where the charring ended, the pavement had cracked and exploded upward. Jagged pieces of masonry lay about, some at the forum’s far edge, the result of the lightning strike. Apparently city workers had been too busy with the imperial funeral to begin their cleanup. Those who claimed the top of the column had been sheared off or that Arkadios’ image had been reduced to a molten mass had exaggerated.