Mary Reed: Two for Joy

“He is recuperating nicely, thanks to Hypatia’s ministrations. Her herbal knowledge is most impressive. She’s been quite busy since you left, chopping and measuring and cooking her potions.” She pointed toward the row of fragrant pots set along the base of the kitchen wall, mute confirmation of her words. “Your house is a positive hive of activity, more so than mine ever was, I do declare. But why are you here? None of us expected to see you so soon again, if indeed at all.”

“I will explain later.” John laid his hand gently on Lucretia’s arm. “Your husband Balbinus is searching for you, Lucretia,” he said quietly. “Why have you come here?”

“I came here because I was unable to see Anatolius. The house slaves would not allow me to enter and they refused to take a message to him. I suppose they thought I was some common woman, trying to cause trouble.” She dabbed at her eyes. Her hands were red and rough, the nails broken.

John glanced at Isis.

“No, she just arrived. She doesn’t know,” the woman muttered. Lucretia looked alarmed as Isis took her hand. “My dear, your friend is under arrest, accused of murder,” she said as gently as she could.

Lucretia gave a choking gasp and sat down abruptly.

Hypatia squeezed past Darius, who was still leaning on the door post. She might well have been standing in the hall listening to their conversation for some time, because she did not question John’s surprising reappearance. Instead she knelt by her pots, stirring them one by one.

“There is almost always a man behind a woman’s sorrow,” she announced to the room at large. “Or if not a man, then men.”

“How true, how true indeed,” Isis said with a sigh.

Lucretia looked haggard, much older than the last time John had seen her. That had been on the occasion of her wedding, a marriage that had broken Anatolius’ heart, or so Anatolius had claimed not long afterwards.

Lucretia mentioned the name almost before John had completed his recollection of the event.

“Lord Chamberlain,” she said, “I had planned to give certain information to Anatolius. I felt I could trust him to see that the right people received it.” She reddened slightly at this admission of that old relationship. “But since I cannot and I am among friends, I will tell you. You were at the shrine to meet with Michael. I observed you there and hid, in case you saw me and told my husband where I was. Forgive me for that.”

John said there was no need to ask for forgiveness.

Lucretia thanked him and then went on. “You were there but a short time and therefore did not hear what I did. I went to the shrine because of Michael’s words. How could I not be attracted by one who seeks to exalt the vessel of our humanity, used and mistreated as I have been?”

Isis gave a slight sniff of disapproval. “I appreciate your distress, child, but there are plenty who wouldn’t feel too used at being matched with a prosperous senator.”

Lucretia ignored her comment. “But what I heard and saw as I helped tend the sick and wounded disturbed me greatly. Michael’s followers occasionally spoke of matters that did not seem entirely appropriate for men of peace.”

“Certainly some do carry weapons,” Peter put in. “We’ve seen that ourselves.”

“And I have seen the results of the wielding of those weapons,” Lucretia said. “But more than that, I overheard some discussing how the city would soon be at their feet and the price they would exact upon it. That did not sound much like the talk of pilgrims to me. But then came mention of supernatural weaponry.”

John glanced over at her with keen interest. “Go on.”

Lucretia shrugged hopelessly. “They realized I was listening and moved away. Then I recalled one of the excubitors had advised me to leave for my own safety and thinking that it was now time to take that advice, I departed. If only he could have taken his own counsel. As I crept out, he was being carried to his grave by two of his comrades at arms.”

John offered a silent prayer that Mithra would accept and reward the unknown soldier who had succumbed to wounds gained by carrying out his duty.

“But,” Lucretia went on, determined, it seemed, to drain the pool of bitterness festering within her, “I do believe that aid is coming from an unexpected quarter, John. For soon the holy man, if he is indeed a holy man, will also be taking his last journey.”

“I don’t believe that he’s in danger from Justinian mounting another attack,” John assured her. “If Michael is caught he will surely die, but it will be in a far subtler way than by being put to the sword.”

“As far as Michael is concerned,” Hypatia put in, “I have a suspicion that Justinian cannot bribe him as he can the Persians, if you’ll excuse my saying so, Darius.”

Darius grunted agreement from the doorway. “I only wish Khosrow would pass some of Justinian’s tribute money along to my family. Then they could live like, well, like Khosrow!”

Lucretia spoke again. “Justinian will not need to purchase peace. As I said, Michael is not long for this world. He displays the marks of shackles. He’s a fraud, I’m convinced of that, but while he is now free of his chains, yet those chains still bind him, and securely at that, to an imminent death.”

“Now you sound as mysterious as a prophecy from the oracle at Delphi,” John said. “With Peter’s assistance, I’ve learned some surprising things about Michael and his followers and you’re certainly correct to suspect the intentions of some of his acolytes at least. But nothing we discovered suggests that Michael will die in the immediate future.”

“Then I will interpret my prophecy, as you call it,” Lucretia replied grimly. “Michael’s leg is mortifying. I saw the creeping lines of poison radiating away from those disgusting shackle sores myself, like the rays of some dark sun. He won’t be seeing too many more sunrises, that’s certain.”

Hypatia poured a pungent mixture from one of her pots into a clay bowl and vigorously stirred the liquid with a wooden spatula. “Isn’t his leg being treated? Honey, that’s the stuff for preventing infection and healing sores. At least that’s what we use in Egypt, but you have to be quick with its application if it’s needed. I’ll wager they sent you away with honey on your ankles when you acquired that tattoo, Isis?”

Isis stretched out her leg and pulled her garment up far enough to reveal her tattoo. “They did indeed and, as you can see, it took beautifully.” Neither the darkly outlined vertical rectangle with a pinched waist and flared base nor the horizontal bars across the top of the tattoo were blurred.

“But that shape, Isis!” exclaimed Lucretia. She bent down to study it more closely and then straightened. “That strange arrangement of dark lines…it almost reminds me of what I saw on Michael’s ankle, half obscured by his terrible sores.”

“Perhaps deliberately obscured,” John put in. His thoughts leapt like the flames in the brazier.

Isis shook her head in disgust, an expression that rarely crossed that worldly madam’s face.

“I have been away from Alexandria a long time,” she declared, “but surely my penitent sisters have not sunk to such depths as to permit men to enter the order? To think they would stoop to defile it for the sake of a few more coins from clients whose filthy tastes cannot otherwise be satisfied. It is enough to make me ashamed of my profession!”

Felix was propped up on his pallet, staring dolefully at the plaster wall, when John entered the small room next to Peter’s. Felix looked, John thought, like a caged bear, too large for the cramped space in which he was confined.

“John! Thank Mithra! The emperor has come to his senses and pardoned you?”