Ten for Dying

Chapter Fifty-one

“Did Anastasia send you to me, Felix?” Antonina smiled coldly. “And if so, why?”

“She didn’t,” Felix said, “but I know you are a friend of hers and she wanted to ask you for a cure for my, er, skin problem…but, after all, a man must make his own decisions about these things. So I said I would think about it, and I only just decided to, um, well…do you have anything suitable?”

Now that he was face-to-face with the woman, Felix had no idea how he was going to question her.

Antonina laughed. “Oh, Felix, you’re trying to pretend you have forgotten our little tryst in the Hall of Nineteen Couches, aren’t you?”

Felix looked at the floor and said nothing. His broad frame was perched on a delicate gilded chair, suited to the aristocratic ladies Antonina normally entertained.

She bent, gave his beard a playful tug and whispered in his ear. “Surely you haven’t forgotten? I would be insulted if you had. But it will remain our little secret.”

Her warm breath was as welcome to him as a fiery gust from the gates of Hell. “I haven’t come here to resume our…uh…I’m just following Anastasia’s advice. I take it she’s a very good friend of yours.”

“You’re here to interrogate me about your lady love then? Not very gallant.”

“No, certainly not. I wouldn’t presume to pry. It’s this hand, as I told you.”

He held it up for her inspection.

“These little red patches? That’s what worries you?”

He nodded and drew his hand away quickly. “I’ve been told it’s serious.”

Antonina straightened. “I have a remedy for any complaint of the skin.” She went out of the room.

Felix tried to think. She was already suspicious. And why not? He had no real business showing up here. He was surprised, and unnerved that she had even recalled their encounter so many years, and so many liaisons, ago.

Antonina returned with an alabaster pot shaped as a miniature head of a woman whose hair was dressed in the classical Greek style.

Felix shuddered as she plucked off the head. The action reminded him too much of possibilities awaiting him. The contents of the pot proved to be a greasy ointment.

“The pot is valuable enough,” Antonina remarked, “but the ointment more valuable still. It’s made from the juice of Jove’s beard mixed with rendered fat, so use it quickly before its virtues are dispersed. Many court ladies have employed it for skin eruptions, but I do believe you’re the first military man.” Giving him a crooked smile, she handed the pot to Felix.

He set it on his knees and clumsily smeared part of the contents on his lumpy patches. It made his skin tingle unpleasantly.

“I’ll give you more to take with you but don’t let Anastasia see it or she will be jealous,” Antonina remarked. “I know about the difficulty in which you find yourself, Felix. Aside from your blemishes, that is. My advice is to leave the city immediately so you won’t risk compromising Anastasia. And when I say immediately, I mean as soon as you have had a cup of wine.”

“Leave the city? On foot? I don’t think-”

“I shall give you a horse for Anastasia’s sake. You can always go to Greece and take shelter with the former Lord Chamberlain. Stay here until evening. Darkness will cover your shall we say strategic retreat?”

Cowardly retreat, Felix thought. Did he have a choice? And why should she care if he stayed or fled, unless she were involved in the affair in some way?

It again occurred to him that Anastasia might be working with the enemies of Germanus, spying on Felix, a key ally of Germanus. Did he dare trust Anastasia any longer? How he could he possibly sort it out, while pursued by both the emperor and Porphyrius? Maybe he should take Antonina’s offer, escape while he still could.

He immediately chided himself. He had too much pride to run away and it was unworthy of him to mistrust Anastasia. What reason had she ever given him to doubt her?

***

A few streets away Anastasia rode behind the closed curtains of one of the less gaudy imperial carriages, unaware she was accompanied by Dedi, who, clinging to the back of the conveyance, prayed he would neither fall off nor be discovered.

Passersby glanced with curiosity as the carriage clattered past, wondering what elevated personage might be concealed and for what reason an aristocrat or high official was out and about in the city. And if there was a strange, little man hanging onto the back of the carriage, what business was it of theirs? The wealthy and powerful were often given to peculiar whims. On the other hand, if the twisted little creature was unknown to the passenger and up to no good…well, what business was it of theirs?

Dedi’s perch was less than salubrious. He was coated with dust churned up by the hooves of the horses’ and the carriage wheels. It gave his shriveled face a mummy-like appearance. He suppressed a cough, felt grit in his mouth, and spit mud.

Nevertheless, further from the palace he would have a better chance of escaping with whatever he managed to pilfer from her.

He needed a token from her to control her sister.

Although he had managed to recall Theodora she had chosen to fly to Antonina rather than subject herself to Dedi’s will. He had no way of knowing why. As soon as he glimpsed the empress through the window Dedi had ducked away to avoid detection. Antonina was well-versed in magick herself and might have detected his presence. No doubt she intended to employ Theodora’s reanimated shade for her own purposes.

The carriage hit a rut and the jolt nearly threw Dedi into the street. He tightened his grip. Darkness had fallen. He could see they were approaching the Church of the Holy Apostles because of the light pouring from its windows. The carriage came to a halt behind the building.

How odd. Why would Anastasia be carrying a package to the church?

Sticking his head around the side of the carriage he recognized the priest, Basilius, standing in the grounds, apparently waiting. When Anastasia alighted from the carriage he came over to greet her.

“You have brought me something, as you promised?” Dedi heard Basilius ask.

The carriage had drawn up in front of Theodora’s mausoleum. Dedi dropped quietly to the ground and crept underneath the carriage, out of sight of the driver but nearer to where Anastasia stood with Basilius.

Anastasia presented the package to the priest. “A small offering for the church. A chalice specially blessed by certain clergy in whom Theodora took a particular interest.”

Basilius looked at the package suspiciously. “You don’t mean those heretics of hers?”

“Surely you would not decline a tribute to the late empress?”

“No. Certainly not.” He took the package gingerly as if it were filthy.

Dedi was studying Anastasia carefully. His mouth widened in a gleeful grin. Tonight was one of particular good fortune, for Anastasia was wearing a necklace of garnets and silver he knew had once belonged to Theodora, and indeed had been a favorite of hers.

He sprang from beneath the carriage, grabbed the necklace, snapped its chain, and was gone into the night before either Anastasia or Basilius could do more than gasp in surprise and horror.