Mary Reed: Nine for the Devil

It was probably true, John thought. Theodora had taken delight in pointing out her efforts to reform such women, especially when she granted an audience to a representative of a patrician family, someone she could horrify with lurid details. The girl was right. No one at court would employ her. The girl’s grief for herself had overcome her caution, for otherwise she would not have dared to speak to an official in such a fashion.

John decided to abandon his search for Hypatia. Perhaps fate was prodding him to begin the task he had been delaying. In which case, Kuria might well know something useful.

The late empress’ attendant followed him obediently to a marble seat positioned to give a good view of the poppy garden.

Kuria confirmed she had attended the empress during her final days. He asked her about Theodora’s visitors at that time. Had anyone been to the sickroom frequently?

Kuria’s face bunched in concentration. “There was the fat physician, and an old churchman. They both visited every day. The emperor only left the room when they were there. Oh, excellency…” Her voice cracked and tears flowed afresh. “He was devoted to her. He insisted on feeding her himself, though she ate so little and rarely kept it down.”

The comment suggested a possibility. “Who brought the empress her meals?”

“Her personal cook. When she took to her room he brought them to the door. One of us attendants took them in and Justinian would feed her, like I said.” Kuria dried her wet cheeks with the bright green sleeve of her tunic.

“You say she ate little?”

“Mostly broth.”

Poison and soup went well together, John thought. A natural pairing from a demon’s kitchen, as many knew to their cost. On the other hand, the imperial couple’s personal cooks answered with their lives if there was the slightest suggestion of tampering with their food. He remembered one occasion when Theodora had become ill after eating fish. The unhappy cook was roasted on his own brazier as a lesson to all.

Fish had not been served at the imperial table for some weeks afterwards.

The memory unsettled his stomach. He found himself tasting the swordfish he had consumed earlier. He swallowed hard.

Kuria continued to snuffle. Somewhere in the twilight a bird called but received no answer. As night fell the creatures sculpted from shrubbery solidified into dark menacing forms. Did the wings of the gryphon stir with life or was it only the effect of wind off the sea?

John wondered if the murderer could have paid Theodora’s cook enough to risk his life. It was highly unlikely. An imperial cook already lived a life of privilege and luxury in the inner sanctum of the empire. If caught, the consequences would be terrible to contemplate.

“Who else was permitted to visit the empress?” John asked.

“Nobody, really. The empress even refused to see Antonina, her closest friend. She didn’t want people to see how she was. All shrunken, her poor face like a skull. And she had times when the pains would grip her and she’d cry out. She didn’t want anyone seeing. I think it hurt the emperor even more than it hurt her. His face would turn a ghastly white. Not that I was there all the time, excellency.” The girl looked up at him. Her wide frightened eyes gleamed in the dying light.

“You couldn’t have been always on duty. But, as far as you know, only the physician and the clergyman-a spiritual advisor, I assume-were regularly admitted. You mentioned attendants. Who were the others?”

“You mean during the last days? Just myself and Vesta. She is lady-in-waiting to Joannina, Lady Antonina’s daughter. After Theodora moved Joannina and Anastasius into rooms in her personal quarters Vesta began visiting the empress, reporting on them. Especially when Theodora became too sick to visit the young couple herself. The empress wanted to be assured they were getting on well.”

“I understand the empress took a great interest in their betrothal.”

“Yes. Toward the end, Vesta spent as much time serving Theodora as serving Joannina. She always brought fruit but the empress could never eat it. We ate it instead. We took turns sitting outside Theodora’s door in case something had to be fetched or our mistress needed assistance of an intimate nature.”

Vesta. John recalled the name. Hadn’t the client who had arrived to see Anatolius been called Vesta? “Describe Vesta.”

Kuria’s description matched the girl John had glimpsed at Anatolius’ house.

John looked across the garden. The sun had disappeared behind the trees. White poppies glimmered as if they retained some fading remnant of the sunlight.

It appeared he would have to look further afield than visitors to the sickroom to find the culprit.

The imperial cook had every reason to hope Theodora continued to live, assuming he had been allowed to live this long. Given Justinian had ordered all the empress’ guards executed, the cook was probably dead now as well. As for poor Kuria, about to be set adrift, she had gained nothing but misery by Theodora’s demise.

As for Vesta, her mistress Joannina was besotted by Theodora’s grandson Anastasius. Yes, “besotted” was the word everyone at the palace used, Cornelia had told him. On the other hand it was common knowledge that Joannina’s parents were against the fast-approaching marriage. The last thing Joannina would want was for Theodora, her matchmaker and protector, to die and permit Antonina and Belisarius to have their way.

“Is Vesta fond of her mistress?”

“Oh, yes indeed, excellency. She wanted to be like her in every way. She’d dab Joannina’s perfume behind her ears. She thought Anastasius so handsome. She was always saying what a romantic couple he and her mistress made.” Kuria buried her face in her hands. “She will be thrown out too, excellency. When her parents take Joannina away from Anastasis, Vesta will be as homeless as I am.”

The girl sat on the bench sobbing. John supposed there was nothing more she could tell him. It seemed callous to get up and leave her alone. Yet what could he do to comfort her?

He would have to talk to Vesta and her mistress Joannina. Anatolius had quoted poetry denouncing bad marriages just before Vesta arrived. Was the subject on his mind from a legal perspective? If Antonina and Belisarius wanted to thwart Joannina’s marriage they might well have another match in mind for her. A bad one by Joannina’s reckoning, no doubt. Perhaps Vesta was fetching legal advice and papers from Anatolius on behalf of Joannina.

Quite aside from that, it seemed clear those best positioned to be used as tools by a murderer all desperately needed the empress to go on living.

Now it was so dark the clipped animals were fading into the gloom. John could still see the bear. Its snarling mouth appeared to be forming a silent laugh. Was it laughing at the impossibility of the task John faced?

The sound of a light step, and a woman appeared through the archway. She carried a basket brimming with greenery. Startled, she glanced at Kuria and then looked up at John.

“Hypatia! I have been looking for you.”

“It was Anatolius who caused you to leave, wasn’t it?” Peter asked.

Hypatia shook her head and a lock of hair, black as a raven’s wing, fell across her forehead. She pushed it away with a tawny hand. “No, Peter. I just felt you didn’t want my assistance.”

Peter levered himself up with his elbow. A cushion from one of the house’s virtually unused reception rooms was wedged between his bony back and the wall. “That young man was paying you unwanted attention. Don’t think I didn’t notice. It was most improper.”

“You mean because he’s a senator’s son and I’m a servant?”