Nine for the Devil

Chapter Sixty-two

“You may stand, Lord Chamberlain,” said the emperor. “We are all equal in the presence of death.”

John got to his feet.

Justinian gave a sardonic smile. His gaze fell to the jar in John’s hands. “You would make a poor thief. The shelves of the kitchens are lined with such jars. Once their contents are gone, they are worthless clay. Like our own flesh.”

Though the words were spoken lightly, John detected a tightening around the emperor’s eyes.

“Excellency, I wish to speak about Anatolius.”

Justinian gave no indication he had heard. He looked around the room. “The plasterers will arrive soon,” he said quietly. “This is the last opportunity I or anyone else will have to see this accursed place before it is sealed off forever. The dust of years will fall silently where my dear wife suffered and died, covering everything with a soft mantle of memory. A strange thing to contemplate, is it not?”

A strange time to engage in poetical ruminations was John’s opinion. “I must respectfully request Narses be instructed to allow Anatolius to leave the Great Church in safety. I have evidence Anatolius was not involved in the empress’ death.”

Justinian leveled an expressionless gaze on John. “Proceed.”

John recounted Kuria’s confession.

Justinian paced as he listened. Then he closed his eyes briefly. “Kuria. Yes. My dear Theodora’s favorite lady-in-waiting, one she trusted. She raised her up from a terrible life.”

“The empress could not have misjudged the girl’s character,” John suggested.

The emperor patted the frame of the bed. “I agree. But who then? Who was the culprit?” He paused. “That murderous drunkard Gaius. Of course! He killed himself, a sure admission of guilt. Perhaps he realized your long friendship would not protect him?”

“It is my belief his death was a mistake while he was intoxicated,” John replied.

“It was made plain to Gaius that retaining his head depended upon his remaining in a fit state to treat my wife.” Justinian glanced in the direction of the icon of the healing saints. “When he was elsewhere it was doubtless a different matter. On reflection, it seems obvious he made the last batch of Theodora’s painkilling medicine far too strong, fatally strong. Therefore I have decided her death was due to an overdose, brought about by the physician’s carelessness. Unfortunately the culprit is beyond justice.”

John shifted the jar he held from one hand to another. “Her death was then an accident, not murder?”

Justinian sighed and nodded. “It seems so, Lord Chamberlain.”

“Excellency,” said John, praying to Mithra his tongue would not tangle the words he had to say. “If I may give my opinion, I believe it was not an accidental overdose. Nor was it murder by an enemy’s hand.”

Justinian’s gaze had moved back to the icon. “Her agony was unimaginable, Lord Chamberlain. I saw it all, shared it all. I never left her side. I fed her personally as long as she could take nourishment, helped her drink her medicine. Toward the end she took nothing but painkilling potions. By then they had lost their effect. It was torture, Lord Chamberlain.”

“It is true, excellency, you attended the empress constantly. Of all those I have spoken to in the course of my investigations, no one spent as much time with her as you.”

The expression Justinian turned on John was so utterly devoid of emotion as to appear, under the circumstances, totally inhuman. “Explain yourself, Lord Chamberlain.”

John raised the jar slightly. “Olives. This jar contained olives. Who would eat olives in the presence of the empress, who could not even eat the fruit she was sent? Surely you would never have done so.”

“One of the attendants,” Justinian replied.

“They would not bring a jar of olives into the sickroom. This jar is from the kitchens. I know you are familiar with the kitchens. I saw you there one night not long ago.”

Justinian said nothing.

“Do you require me to be more specific?” John asked, asking Mithra to protect him.

Justinian’s face remained a rigid mask. “I have asked too much of you, Lord Chamberlain. I will summon you later when you are less tired. You may go.”

John remained where he was. He needed to finish this, now. He could not wait any longer to find Cornelia, no matter how much he might anger the emperor.

And he was about to anger him.

“Excellency, you had the most and the easiest access to the empress,” he said. “You also had the strongest motive for hastening her death. The motive of mercy. You just pointed out she was being tortured. As I said, her death was neither an accidental overdose nor murder by the hand of an enemy.”

There came to him an image of the wall painting at Antonina’s house, the copy of the Ravenna mosaic, the empress holding the chalice.

“A cup of sorrow for one may be a cup of blessing for another,” he added.

Justinian’s eyes blazed as if they opened onto the pits of hell. “I should have your throat cut and your body entombed in this room. Explain yourself before I order it.”

“Gaius kept increasing the amount of the empress’ painkilling medicine,” John replied. “Toward the end it ceased to help. There was no escape from her torture. The more painkiller the empress was given the more her pain increased. How could that be? Because after it became apparent it was not possible to relieve her agony, you were no longer giving her the proper amount.”

Justinian remained silent.

“Instead you were pouring part of it into this jar, one you’d taken from the kitchens. Gaius had been exceedingly careful not to bring a fatal dose into the room. Nobody could possibly know that you were saving the painkiller. You wanted to make certain you accumulated enough to relieve the empress of her suffering.”

The emperor stared at him, his face unreadable as a blank sheet of parchment. Though the room was hot, John felt enveloped with cold. He shuddered.

Mithra, I am about to be condemned to death. Guard my family, he prayed.

The emperor’s voice issued in a faint draught from all but motionless lips. “A pretty explanation indeed, Lord Chamberlain. Now explain why I would order you to find a murderer if the murderer were myself?”

Why? To hide his actions? Had he wanted John to present him with a scapegoat? Or because he had been deranged and had not, until now or some time after the act, admitted to himself he had taken his wife’s life? Had he wanted John to convince him that someone else had murdered Theodora?

“I did not say you were a murderer, excellency.”

“Then…?” Justinian pressed.

“I believe you did not want to see the empress’ torture prolonged,” John said, wishing Theodora had shown such mercy herself to those she had sent to the underground dungeons.”It was an act of mercy.”

Justinian forced his lips into a mockery of a smile. “You have been a valuable servant to me, Lord Chamberlain, but tonight you have brought an end to your time here.”