Seven for a Secret

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Mistress, the gentleman has arrived!”

Cornelia turned and saw Peter peering through the doorway to the bath.

She had decided to look in on the workmen who had arrived earlier to begin repairing the neglected room. Two of them were up to their ankles in green gruel at the bottom of the circular marble pool which occupied most of the space, seeking to unplug the drain with a heavy metal rod. The third, a paunchy, middle-aged man who had introduced himself as the mosaic maker Figulus, stood on the edge of the basin, next to the marble Aphrodite, scowling up at the cracks in the domed ceiling.

“The gentleman? What do you mean, Peter?”

“I was in the garden and heard footsteps, and caught a glimpse of someone going upstairs. A stranger.”

“You didn’t confront him?”

Peter looked surprised. “I thought you must be expecting a visitor.”

“No. I’m not expecting anyone.” Cornelia could feel her breath coming faster. She chided herself. The city made her nervous, as did John’s investigations.

The visitor could be anyone. A friend of John’s. Someone on business. A palace messenger. She made an effort to control her breathing. “Figulus, are there just the three of you?”

He had been prodding at some loose tesserae in the wall mosaic and pretending not to listen to the conversation. “Yes, lady. Just three. The Lord Chamberlain said he wanted these mosaics…um…altered, rendered more fitting. Do you have any idea exactly what he has in mind?” He shuffled his feet.

Cornelia saw Peter’s lips tighten as he glanced at the mosaics which so discomfited Figulus. They depicted in a detailed, earthy manner what the goddess Aphrodite symbolized.

Perhaps the mosaic maker had misheard John’s instructions.

“No, I don’t want any alterations,” Cornelia replied. “They are to be repaired. I like them.”

She went into the hallway, which was cluttered with tools, bags, and barrels of tesserae and plaster.

“Let’s find out who our visitor is,” she said to Peter. She couldn’t entirely keep anxiety out of her voice.

As she started back down the hall, she heard one of the workmen, his voice amplified in the empty, marble room, laugh. “A lady like that likes pictures like these. Wish I was his excellency!”

“Not me!” came the reply. “You don’t know anything about the Lord Chamberlain, do you, you fool?”

The atrium was deserted. The front door stood open, a cart piled with building materials visible on the cobbles beyond.

“Do you have a weapon, Peter?”

“Yes, Mistress, but it’s in my room upstairs.”

“Never mind then.” Cornelia started up the stairway.

“Mistress, you shouldn’t go up alone!” Peter protested, following her.

How ill advised to leave the door open, Cornelia thought. It had probably never occurred to the workmen that a Lord Chamberlain wouldn’t have swarms of servants close at hand instead of one elderly man.

No one to shut doors and guard them against intruders.

The wooden steps creaked under her feet.

There was no one in the hallway upstairs. She went into the kitchen and picked up the poker beside the brazier.

“Take one of the knives, Peter. We’ll risk appearing very inhospitable if it turns out to be a senator or someone sent by the emperor.”

The weight of the iron poker in her hand made her breath come more easily as she stepped out into the hallway again, half expecting someone to burst forth from one of the rooms.

She lowered her voice before speaking to Peter. “The footsteps you heard? Was it just one person or more?”

“Only one.”

Of course, Peter’s hearing was not very reliable. Cornelia took a few steps. She set her jaw and exhaled slowly. When she’d traveled with the troupe, she had specialized in leaping bulls in a recreation of the old Cretan tradition.

There always came that time, as the bull charged, when it was necessary to take the decision and leap, to bridge the chasm between thought and action despite fear.

A hulking assassin might have lain in wait. Or she and Peter might find themselves facing a band of armed ruffians.

She raised the poker and stepped into John’s study.

A slender young man, his hair prematurely silver, lounged at John’s desk and stared pensively at the mosaic on the wall.

He barely turned his head at her entrance, but merely put down John’s wine cup. “Ah, there is someone alive in this place after all. I was beginning to think that cunning child on the wall was the sole inhabitant of the house.”

The man was dressed like a merchant in a well cut blue tunic and a short, dark blue cloak. He did not appear to have a weapon.

“Who are you and what is your business?” Cornelia demanded.

The man stood, without any display of urgency. “Have I disturbed you? I’m most sorry. I was given to understand the Lord Chamberlain wished to speak with me. I thought I’d save him the trouble of seeking me out again. As a courtesy, you understand.”

“Do you consider it a courtesy to simply walk into people’s homes and wander around unannounced and drink their wine?”

“When I arrived, there were fellows hauling things in so I just followed them,” the visitor protested. “There was nobody at the door and the furnishings are so sparse, I thought the Lord Chamberlain must have moved out while the work was under way.”

“And you are…?” Cornelia demanded.

“My name is Troilus. I am a dealer in antiquities and curiosities, which is why this mosaic so intrigues me. I only wish I owned such a wonderful piece of art.”

“The Lord Chamberlain is not here.”

Peter lifted the knife he used to chop onions. “Shall I see the villain out, mistress?”

“No, we’ll both escort him out. I will tell the Lord Chamberlain you called, Troilus. I’m sure you will be hearing from him very soon.”