Nine for the Devil

Chapter Two

“Goddess!” Cornelia cursed. Theodora was gone at last, but she and John were still not free of the empress’ interference.

She made certain all but one of the atrium lamps had been extinguished, checked the bolt on the front door, then went up the steep wooden stairs to the second floor. Peter was supposed to have performed the same tasks before retiring to his room, but the old servant had become forgetful.

Cornelia was nervous. There was no telling what disturbances might break out in the wake of Theodora’s death.

She strode down the dark hallway toward the bedroom. She could see a streak of light from the bedside lamp streaming across octopi and fish in the blue and green floor tiles. Entering the room she took off her sandals and threw them into a corner.

“And don’t tell me I’m bad-tempered, John, “ she said. “I know that. But haven’t we got enough to worry about with Europa refusing a court physician and wanting me to attend her out on Zeno’s estate?”

John was sitting in bed. He picked up the clay lamp to extinguish it as Cornelia turned to take a last look through the open window. The nearby dome of the Great Church, light pouring through hundreds of apertures, radiated an orange dawn into the night sky above cross-bedecked rooftops. Cornelia pulled her linen tunica over her head, and laid it on the chest at the foot of the bed. Only then did the lamplight go out.

She plumped down on the bed so hard it creaked. A muscle in her back joined the bed’s protest. The twinge of pain made her curse again. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“Strange. Watching you, I was thinking you’re still the same beautiful young girl I first met. And you still have the same temper. Surely you’ve attended women before?”

“When I traveled with the bull-leaping troupe. But it’s different when it’s your own flesh and blood.”

“I’m glad you’ll be there. After all, it is our first grandchild.”

Despite the open window the summer night was stifling. She could hear voices drifting from the city. Patrons leaving an inn, tenement residents sitting outdoors late to escape the heat. From further off came the faint barking of a dog. The sounds emphasized the immensity of the world outside and the comfort of their own room. She pulled John down onto the cotton stuffed mattress and pressed herself against his back. Even though he was as damp as she from the humid air, his skin felt cool, as it always did. He never wore fragrances as did most of the aristocrats at court.

Cornelia would miss the feel of him when she tried to sleep at the estate south of the city. “And then there’s Peter,” she said, shifting with practiced precision to match her contours to his. “I suggested he might like an assistant to help run the household while I was gone. He was outraged. Said he was still capable of serving his master. Most emphatic that he didn’t want help.”

“He’s proud, Cornelia. I’ve hinted at a pension more than once but he was quite firm in refusing it. He’s a free man and can leave at any time. Even if he is in his seventies, we must allow him his dignity.”

Cornelia sighed. “‘And you won’t dismiss him.”

John agreed. “I would like him to retire but I won’t force him. It’s not as if we give elaborate banquets. He can still manage his tasks and he’s been a good servant always. All the same, I can’t help but worry. He limps badly when he thinks nobody can see it.”

“You might worry a little more about yourself,” Cornelia replied. “What about this assignment? How can you find a killer who doesn’t exist?”

“Justinian might know more than he is telling me.”

“Even if there was a murderer how would you find him? Most of the population of the city would have killed Theodora if they had the chance. And how many at court didn’t have reason to want her dead?”

“You could be right.”

Cornelia pressed herself more tightly against John’s back. Outside two cats fought raucously and briefly. A slight breeze struggled into the room, barely managing to stir the heavy air. “I’d look into her meddling in family affairs, her unwanted matchmaking. Let the imperial torturers go about their work. Let taxes be increased. Let religious arguments thunder back and forth. That’s expected. But once you interfere in love affairs, even an empress is treading on dangerous ground.”

“You say that because you are thinking of Europa and Thomas and their child. Our own family.”

“Perhaps.”

“That and listening to too much palace gossip.”

“No one at court can help listening to gossip, unless they’re deaf.” She tugged John’s sinewy arm until he rolled over to face her. She could see the faint light from the window glinting in his eyes. “Theodora has always put her own family first, and especially before Justinian’s. Look at the marriages she arranged for those sisters of hers, Comita and Anastasia. Their reputations are as bad as hers. Marrying former whores into reputable families is bound to cause resentment. Yet who dared say no to the empress?”

“Not many.”

“And not only that. What about those two youngsters she’s forced to live with one another? Belisarius and Antonina’s daughter Joannina and that wretched boy Anastasius. Joannina will have to marry him now to protect what honor she has left. Everyone knows the match was designed to shift Belisarius’ fortune to Theodora’s family.”

“Anastasius is Theodora’s grandson, it’s true.”

“Son of Theodora’s illegitimate daughter. The daughter’s well named. Theodora. Like mother, like daughter.”

“I don’t believe Justinian’s foremost general and his wife would murder the empress.”

“And there’s General Germanus too.” Cornelia plunged ahead, ignoring his remark. “Theodora tried to thwart his daughter’s marriage, even though it might be the last chance she’d ever have, considering her age. And why? Could it be because Germanus is Justinian’s cousin?”

John put his finger lightly to Cornelia’s lips. “I do know a little about what goes on at the palace.”

Cornelia pushed his finger away. “Not to mention yet another general Theodora wronged. Poor Artabanes! Forced to live with his estranged wife and watch Theodora marry off his lover to one of the empress’ wicked-”

She was forced to break off as John inclined his head and kissed her. “I will need to start my investigation after the funeral tomorrow. We can talk about this then, Britomartis.”

Cornelia smiled. “Do you think you can silence me like that?” Britomartis, the Cretan Lady of the Nets, was his pet name for her from long ago. Cornelia was a native of Crete and the first time John had seen her performing with a traveling troupe that recreated the ancient sport of bull-leaping the sight of her snared him as securely as fishermen catch Neptune’s creatures in their meshes. Or so he had said. Cornelia supposed there were a lot more women called little sparrow in private than Britomartis.

She returned his kiss. “Despite everything, you’ve never changed, John. You’re no different now that you’re a great man in the capital than you were as a poor young mercenary at the furthest reaches of the empire.”

She felt the muscles of his arm tighten under her fingertips and realized she had inadvertently reminded him of the wound he endured. He had not reached twenty-five when he blundered into Persian territory, was captured, castrated, and sold into slavery like a beast. Tears came to her eyes. For his sake, not hers. Men made too much of their masculinity.

“Oh, John, please don’t think of that.”

“I wish I could be more for you than…than an old man.”

“Old couples are the happiest, they say.” She took his face between her hands, hoping he couldn’t see the wet streaks on her cheeks. “Besides, we have been together. We have a daughter. Right now, on some battlefield, a young man who has never had those things is dying.”

“As always, you are right. Still-”

“Please don’t talk, John. Let’s forget the past and Justinian. You know how wakeful Britomartis has always been. Help her sleep now, as you always do.”