Mary Reed - Nine for the Devil

It was one thing to die in combat but the death meted out in the crude cells he raced past was quite another matter. Though torturers sometimes withheld death, permanent injury was inflicted quickly.

A scream sounded nearby, ascending into throat-aching shrillness and then down into loud sobs mixed with entreaties for mercy.

The air stank of smoke, seared flesh, blood, and less savory odors.

John suppressed a gag.

Turning a corner he saw firelight reflected on wet stones from the open door of the nearest cell.

He hoped the wetness was water.

The scene that met him as he stepped into the cell was much as expected. Vesta lay on the floor weeping raggedly, her clothes torn. A broad-shouldered man bent over her, boot poised to deliver another kick to the girl’s side.

“Stop!” John commanded as he crossed the threshold.

The man looked up, his thick lips curling. “Just softening the captive up a little. You can’t expect results immediately with some of these women, Lord Chamberlain.”

“You haven’t begun questioning the girl?”

“No, you’re just in time. I’ve been showing her the hot irons, the knives, and my other pretty toys.” The torturer leered in the direction of a brazier and a cluttered table occupying one wall. “So I haven’t got around to business. I was waiting for my assistants to arrive so the fun can begin.”

Vesta had taken advantage of the conversation to crawl to John and cling to his boots.

“She’s not that much of a pretty young thing,” the torturer observed, “but men will be men, and I find that afterwards, criminals don’t care much any more what they reveal. If you’d care to join-or-uh-watch-”

“Silence! Justinian’s orders are she’s to be released.”

The other looked both surprised and disappointed. “But the irons are just starting to glow! We haven’t got started yet!”

“No matter. I am taking charge of her.”

The man cursed. “Well, since you are Lord Chamberlain and I am not, I suppose I must agree to it,” he sneered. “Perhaps you wouldn’t get any pleasure from watching anyhow.”

John fixed him with a level stare. He could have the impertinent man subjected to his own toys if he wished it. John said nothing but perhaps the would-be torturer suddenly realized the possibility, because his features turned to stone and he looked away quickly.

John pulled Vesta to her feet and helped her into the corridor.

She was trembling convulsively and clung to him as a child would.

They laboriously climbed the stairs and crossed the palace grounds.

***

Hypatia and Joannina greeted them anxiously at John’s house.

John let the women take the girl away to an unused bedroom while he got himself a cup of wine. He gulped it down and refilled his cup.

By the time he rejoined the three women, Vesta was wearing one of Hypatia’s garments, which fitted the slim young woman almost perfectly.

As she thanked him profusely and incoherently his gaze fell on the purpling finger marks on her arms.

“She’s only bruised, master,” Hypatia said. “You were in time.”

John nodded. He hoped the girl’s mental bruises were no deeper than her physical marks. He remembered only too well the feeling of horrific helplessness she had experienced, that he himself had experienced so long ago.

He asked the other two women to leave him alone with Vesta.

When they had he said, “I am sorry to have to ask you questions, Vesta, but the sooner I have answers the better. What are these herbs that were found in your room?”

“I know nothing about them,” Vesta’s voice quavered. “I am learning how to make salves, perfumes, and cosmetic preparations for my mistress and the ladies of the court. As I told you before, Lady Antonina is instructing me in the work. Please, I’m telling the truth. Don’t send me back.”

John had an urge to pat the girl’s arm comfortingly, but refrained. “I won’t,” he assured her instead.

He had been informed the herbs were of the sort used in poisons. Was it possible she had been betrayed by someone at court? No one except those on the palace grounds could have had access to her room or even know where it was located.

The simplest explanation was that she was lying.

“You were denounced anonymously, Vesta. I gather the prefect was informed incriminating items could be found in your room. Do you have any idea who might have done that?”

Vesta narrowed her reddened eyes as she pondered the question. “No. No, Lord Chamberlain. Who could hate me so? And why would anyone suspect me?”

“You attended Theodora during her last days,” John pointed out.

“Oh, but it was Kuria who was her personal attendant. I was simply helping her. Kuria was with her so much more than I.”

“Are you accusing Kuria of poisoning the empress?”

Vesta’s eyes widened. “No. But it just occurred to me…”

“What occurred to you?”

“Oh…I…what I said. That Kuria spent more time with her. Please, Lord Chamberlain. Don’t question me any further. Who am I? Barely more than a servant. I can’t afford to have enemies in high places.”

“I don’t understand.”

The girl seemed to panic. Her eyes widened and she started to leap up but toppled backwards. John caught her before she fell to the floor and eased the unconscious girl onto the bed.

At least she appeared to be unconscious and after her recent experience it would be understandable.

John didn’t want to suspect Vesta, but he knew he had no choice.

Night pressed its dark veil against the windows of John’s study.

By this time the house was usually quiet but tonight he could hear footfalls upstairs as Hypatia bustled about caring for Peter.

John had looked in on the servant and listened respectfully to the old man’s encomiums to his Christian god and the miracle he had wrought. John could see the attraction of believing the most dire of problems could be solved with a dab of Egyptian lamp oil, that the world was overseen by a loving omnipotent being who was willing to assist His followers if correctly petitioned.

His own god, Mithra, was a general who sent his men into a battle against the the forces of darkness, a battle in which they depended entirely on themselves.

Or so John believed.

He stared at the little girl in the mosaic on his study wall. “Well, Zoe, are you going to help me at least begin to untangle this Gordian knot?”

He swallowed another sip of his bitter wine. “I know your name is not truly Zoe, but you’ve always answered to it before. At least you don’t change. You never grow old. Not like people. Flesh is not glass. Look at Antonina, who is entangled in this whole business. She hides the years cunningly but they are beginning to catch up. Yes, Antonina offers a good starting point. Consider what we have discovered.”

He put his wine cup down and began to tick off points on his fingers. “First, Antonina purports to suspect both Germanus and the Cappadocian. Let us bear in mind casting suspicion elsewhere diverts it from yourself.”

He got up and paced around the room as he continued. “Very well, then. As far as Antonina is concerned, it would be in her interests for Theodora to remain alive, thereby thwarting Germanus’ ambitions for the throne and in the process protecting Belisarius’ current role as Justinian’s foremost general. Not to mention she hoped to use Theodora to get more supplies and troops from Justinian for Belisarius in Italy. Joannina has the impression that the latter is her mother’s main interest at the moment.”

Zoe’s eyes seemed to twinkle in the trembling lamp light as John looked up at her on his second circle around the room.