Nine for the Devil

Chapter Fifty-three

Hypatia spoke frantically almost before the door was fully open. “Lord Chamberlain! Thank the gods you’re home! Peter’s fallen out of bed!”

She spun around and ran up the stairs, John close behind.

The old servant was crumpled on the floor.

“He cried out,” Hypatia explained. “Then I heard a thump.”

John knelt down beside the motionless figure. The wrinkled hand he touched felt unnaturally cold. Placing his hand near Peter’s face he could feel a wisp of breath.

“At first I thought he was dead,” Hypatia continued. “I was trying to get him back into bed when I heard your knock. And yesterday he was doing so well, just like his old self.”

Just as John had feared. He had seen too many sick and wounded and elderly revive for a day or two before taking their final departure. “Take hold of his feet, Hypatia. We’ll get him back into bed and then I’ll go for Gaius.”

The limp body, the brown parchment skin, gave an impression of fragility and lightness. In fact, Peter’s body was heavy, awkward and uncooperative. They managed to get him settled with difficulty. Hypatia drew the sheet up around him despite the heat in the room.

When she leaned over and pushed strands of hair off his forehead, Peter opened his eyes abruptly. He was staring at the ceiling. “Please, may I speak to the master?” His voice was a dry whisper.

“Of course, Peter,” Hypatia told him, stroking his hair.

“Alone. If I might speak to him alone.”

Hypatia straightened slowly. “If that’s what you want, Peter.” There was a catch in her voice.

When she had gone out John said, “I must go for Gaius. We can speak after he gets here.”

“No. There’s no time, master. Besides, I just saw him. He was going up the heavenly ladder ahead of me. He called back. Beware! I turned and saw a demon reaching for me. It got its claws into my leg. Ah, it burned like fire. I thought my bones would melt. It pulled and then I was on the floor. I had barely climbed a rung, but now that I have set my foot on the ladder I must go back. The angels will pick me up again very soon. I think I have the good deeds for the tolls I must pay. I have tried to live a Christian life.”

John pulled the stool to the bedside and sat. Peter was not fully awake, still immersed in his nightmare, he thought. “What is it, Peter?”

“Will you be able to pay the tolls, master? Or will the demons pull you down into the pit?”

“There are no demons here, Peter. You are dreaming.”

“Oh no, master. Demons are everywhere. It is when we finally awake that we see them.”

“You have been very ill and in pain, Peter. You broke your leg. Gaius has been treating you. These events have become jumbled up into your dream.”

Peter slowly turned his head to one side so he was facing John rather than the ceiling. The effort appeared to have been too much for his strength. He closed his eyes and his breath became erratic, a ragged whistling sound.

When John judged he had fallen asleep and started to rise, Peter’s eyes opened again.

“Master, I must speak as a servant should never speak to his master, but there is one who is master of both of us and I must…”

“You are a free man, Peter. Speak.”

“I fear for your soul. You are a good man. A good Christian but-”

“I am not a Christian, Peter,” John said in a quiet voice.

“By your works you are. You live a Christian life. A simple life. You do not crave material things.”

“I have estates, Peter. I am a wealthy man. I have little use for wealth, but I have not given it all to the poor.”

“I have never seen you pass a beggar without pressing a coin into his hand.”

“I worship Mithra, Peter. You know that.”

“You call him Mithra. I do not think the Lord cares what name you use for him.”

John gave a thin smile. “I fear a clergyman might disagree.”

“But why should you care what name you use when you pray, master? Could you not call Mithra Christ? It would not change the way you live your life.”

“Peter, you know that is impossible.”

“My god has spoken to me, master. Has yours ever spoken to you?”

“A general does not speak to his foot soldiers individually,” John replied. “You must sleep, Peter. Gaius will give you something to help you do so.”

John began to get up again. This time Peter’s hand moved. He managed to draw the Christian sign. “Please wait, master. I will not see you again.”

“I do not believe that will be the case,” John said, only half-believing it.

“The angels are coming to help me back onto the heavenly ladder. Please, master. I do not want to leave, knowing that your soul is damned to suffer forever. Promise me that you will become a Christian in name as well as by the way you live.”

“Peter, I cannot-”

“Emperor Constantine was baptized before he died. It is said that only then was God’s true power manifested to him. He threw off the purple and never wore it in his dying days.”

“Peter, you must realize I cannot worship your gentle god.”

“Ah! They are here!” Peter’s gaze fastened on the empty air in the middle of the room. “Only promise me, master, and I will leave the world a happy man.”

***

As John left Peter’s room he found Hypatia waiting just outside.

“I’ll go for Gaius,” he said, and clattered downstairs as she rushed back to the dying man’s bedside.

When he reached Gaius’ surgery, the door was shut. Gaius did not answer John’s knock.

He pushed the door open.

The physician’s portly form sprawled untidily against a wall.

Drinking again, John thought. It was not the first time he had seen his friend in such a posture.

The thought had no sooner formed than he realized Gaius was impossibly still. Looking more closely he detected no sign of any of those minute movements of which most are aware without taking particular note.

Gaius’ neck felt icy to the touch.

John rolled him over.

The wide open eyes were glazed in death.

Two empty wine jars on the table told part of the story.

He must have been intoxicated to the point of total unreason. Perhaps he had heard a contingent of excubitors coming down the corridor and jumped to the wrong conclusion. If excubitors had truly been coming for him, they would not have left his body lying here.

Whatever the reason, a tiny green glass bottle lying unstoppered in a corner-the bottle Gaius had said contained poison-told the rest of the story.

John had seen death countless times but had never got entirely used to it, especially when it came unexpectedly to a friend.

He went out and found a silentiary, apprised the man of the situation, and ordered him to have another physician sent to tend to Peter. If there was no one readily available on the palace grounds, one could always be found at Samsun’s Hospice.

He hoped the new physician would be able to help Peter.

Gaius was beyond help.

On the way home his legs felt as if anchors were attached to them. Slowly crossing the square he saw Hypatia letting a caller into his house.

Had Peter died? Had she called for assistance? From whom?

He realized he was not thinking clearly. He stepped into the atrium to be greeted by an exhausted man in dusty garments. Dirt in the lines of his face and his disordered hair suggested a long ride.

It must be Cornelia’s messenger.

“Lord Chamberlain, I’ve just come from Zeno’s estate.”

“The child has finally arrived! Is Europa well?”

The messenger gave him a strange look and the breath went out of John’s body.

“The mistress’ child is late arriving, excellency, and luckily so. I was sent to ask if there has been a mistake of some kind. When will the mistress’ mother be arriving?”