Nine for the Devil

Chapter Seven

“Get hold of his leg above the knee, John. When I tell you, pull as hard as you can.”

The speaker, Gaius, the palace physician, had helped John get Peter up to his third floor room. Peter was positioned with his left leg extending past the edge of the bed. John clasped his servant’s upper leg while Gaius grasped the ankle.

“Pull!”

The physician was a stout, bald man. His big forearms corded with effort. John leaned backwards as he pulled in the opposite direction.

Gaius’ rubicund face grew redder. With a grunt he twisted Peter’s leg until the grotesquely misplaced foot returned to its normal position. “I think we’ve got it. Let go.”

John thought he could hear bones snap back into place, but surely that was his imagination. He looked with concern at Peter, whose face was calm but as waxen as that of a corpse.

The servant smiled weakly. ““Don’t worry, master. For all I can feel, my leg might have been amputated.”

“You still have your leg,” Gaius said gruffly, positioning the splint under it. “The tibia and fibula were both broken right through, but cleanly and that’s fortunate for you. Help me with these bindings, John.”

“I am sorry for the trouble, master,” Peter said.

“You’ll be back on duty in a few months,” Gaius told him. “Your leg will be good as new.”

The servant sighed. “Can you make the rest of me new as well?”

***

Seated at John’s kitchen table, Gaius looked up from his cup. “I’m grateful for your assistance in helping me set Peter’s leg, but not for this terrible wine of yours. Not that I would ever refuse to drink it,” he added truthfully. The physician had spent so much of his life with his bulbous nose buried in cups it had taken on a wine-dark color. “You’ll have to tie Peter to his bed for several weeks.”

“That will be difficult,” John replied. “He’ll try to get up before you’re out of sight.”

“For now, the draught of poppy potion I gave him will make him sleep. He may not be as difficult as you anticipate. After you left us alone I frightened him into agreeing not to get out of bed until I give him permission.”

John asked how this remarkable feat had been accomplished.

“Oh, quite easily. I told him he would probably faint if he did and if we found him apparently dead on the floor I would have to establish if he was still living by extreme methods, such as thrashing his chest with nettles or pouring vinegar into his mouth. According to Peter, vinegar tastes no worse than your awful wine. So I went on to the possibility of onion juice squirted into the nose and horse-radish rubbed on the tongue. That got his attention. I didn’t have to mention any of the more stringent invasive tests. If the healing goes well, his leg should remain much the same length as it always has been. If not, it’ll be shorter than the other and he’ll limp.”

“He’s already does, but thinks nobody’s noticed.”

“It’s age gnawing at his joints. I’ll bring something for that tomorrow.”

John nodded. His own joints ached on damp mornings like this. “You’ve heard Justinian has ordered me to find out who poisoned Theodora?”

“Yes. Word gets around fast. I’m under suspicion, needless to say.” The physician drained his cup and reached for the jug. “I attended Theodora until the day before she died, and it was not an easy illness. That last week she was asking for more and more poppy potion and yet it hardly seemed to lessen the agony.”

“Could anyone have poisoned it?”

Gaius considered the question. “No. I make it myself from tears of poppy and it never left my hands between completion and delivery to the sickroom. I’ve served as palace physician long enough to know it’s the only way to avoid problems.”

“Do you think she was poisoned?”

“No. She was gravely ill. I saw no signs of poisoning. It would have been impossible. Who could have poisoned her? It’s not like anyone could walk in and invite her to have a drink or eat a honey cake. No, I’m certain it wasn’t that, despite what Justinian says. Though if the emperor says a thing is so, as far as we’re all concerned it is so.”

“He expects me to prove it.”

Gaius shook his head. “It was a wasting disease, John. There were all the characteristic signs as illness ran its course. Marked loss of weight, yellowing of the skin, increasing pain.”

He shook his head and took a gulp of wine. “The pain was unimaginable. Several times Justinian summoned me, begging me to give her something stronger. You could hear her screaming all the way to the end of the corridor. I tried to explain to him that there was a limit to the amount of painkiller I could administer and that it could only deaden the agony so far. He was frantic.”

“The emperor is used to having his own way.”

Gaius nodded. “By a week ago it was obvious she was not long for this world. At the very end the pain subsided, mercifully. The last time I attended her she was drowsy. Until I got close enough it was hard to tell if she was still alive, her breathing was so shallow. Her pulse was strong but slower than it should have been, her pupils contracted. She seemed rational, but kept falling asleep. Most likely she slipped into a coma during the night and never woke up. I’ve seen it before. I knew what the outcome would be from the beginning.”

“I take it no one would have considered the possibility of murder if she were a shopkeeper or a minor functionary?”

“Or even if her husband were rational.”

***

After Gaius departed John visited Peter, finding him half asleep in his whitewashed room. Sunlight poured through the window across floorboards polished by wear and touched the large wooden cross mounted on the wall above the bed.

“I have instructions from Gaius that you must remain in bed for some time.” John told him. “It would please me to know you will follow them. That being so, you are going to need help for a few weeks.”

“Yes, master,” Peter replied in a faint voice. “It was my own fault for not scraping the mud off the soles of my boots at the door. Slipped on the stairs, you see. Careless.” He rubbed his forehead where a large bruise was beginning to swell. “What happened to the swordfish?”

“I rescued it and I shall grill it,” John replied. “I don’t know if you’ll feel like eating? Soup perhaps?”

The elderly servant looked horrified. “But master, it is not fitting for you to cook or wait on me!”

John pointed out he had cooked his own meals many times in his days as a mercenary and there was nobody else to care for Peter with Cornelia away.

“If I may suggest it, master, would it not be possible for Hypatia to return until I get back on my feet? If someone else must work at my brazier, well, admittedly she over-spices the food but after all, she is from Egypt. She is familiar with the household. We’ve known each other a long time, and she takes directions well.”

John concealed a smile. Peter had chosen the person he already had in mind, a young woman who had worked in the household in years past. Actually, not quite so young now, he reminded himself. In her mid-thirties. Since leaving John’s employ, she had been working in the imperial gardens. “An excellent choice, Peter. I’m certain it can be arranged.”

“Thank you, master,” Peter closed his eyes. “I hope she will not be too irritated with me for not cultivating her herb beds as well as I should. I am afraid our garden is not as beautiful as it was when she looked after it.”

“It will soon revive. Now you should worry about your own health. Try to rest.”

John went back to his study.

It did not occur to him that anyone might think it odd for a high official to be caring for a servant. Over the years Peter had become part of his family. He was certain Hypatia would agree to help.

If only his investigation could be resolved so easily.