Seven for a Secret

Chapter Twenty-Eight

John knew he was dreaming, even though he had never before dreamt of Zoe.

“That is because I was never dead before,” she told him in an annoyed tone.

They were walking along a path in the grounds of Plato’s Academy.

John had not returned to the Academy since his youthful studies there. It looked much as he remembered, except that now ancient stone grave markers jutted up between the olive trees shading their way.

“I have heard that the dead return in dreams,” John replied, “but I never believed it.”

Zoe wore the same solemn expression she exhibited in the wall mosaic. “Look,” she pointed, “There is Justinian’s tomb.”

It struck John as remarkable the emperor would have chosen to be buried so far from the capital and on the grounds of the pagan school he had ordered closed. “Is that what you came back to tell me, Zoe?”

“Why would I want to grow up to be an actress?” she asked, ignoring his question. “I still live in our house, don’t I? I should not want to be a woman like her.”

“We cannot always choose who we grow up to be,” John said. He found himself looking at the girl more closely. She smiled at him. “You are not Zoe!”

“Of course I am.” As the girl spoke he saw that she was, indeed, composed of nothing but glass tesserae. “I will give you proof.”

She lifted a hand to her face and plucked out a glossy eye.

“No!” John tried to cry out but an impossible weight bore down on his chest, preventing him from forcing out the slightest sound. He reached toward the delicate hand which held out the shining fragment.

He saw who she was now.

Cornelia.

“No!”

His voice was suddenly shockingly loud as if he had burst up from deep water into light and air.

He gripped a hand.

Cornelia’s, holding a damp piece of cloth.

Sunlight forced him to briefly close his eyes. When he opened them again he saw he was in his bedroom, lying on the bed.

He remembered he had been sunk in thought while walking down a dark street.

Cornelia squeezed his hand. “Thanks to the Goddess,” she said. There were dark circles around her eyes. “You’ve been unconscious since last night.”

John realized his head throbbed with pain.

“Felix and several of his excubitors brought you home after dark, long after I expected you back. I feared the worst.”

“Felix?”

“Didn’t you hear me, John?” Relief sharpened Cornelia’s voice. “When Felix arrived-”

“I’m sorry. I wanted to finish…what I was doing.”

Cornelia wiped her eyes with the back of a hand. “Never mind. He said it was just a bump.” She dabbed the damp cloth at a spot behind his ear, causing pain to lance through his head.

“What happened? Why did Felix bring me back? How did he know where I was?”

“Someone told him there was a dead courtier in the street. He wasn’t very clear about it. I think he must have been rousted out of a tavern. He reeked of wine. He said when he got to you the City Prefect’s men were already there.”

“I wasn’t far from the Prefect’s offices in the law courts, the last I remember.”

“As soon as he saw it was you, Felix took charge. He said you were fortunate some passerby spotted you or else you might have lain there all night.”

Yet John had been assured that the area was not well traveled at night. He asked Cornelia who had made the report to the Prefect.

“No one seems to know and I didn’t think to ask Felix under the circumstances. You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

John pushed himself into a sitting position. The movement made his head feel as if it would burst. His vision blurred.

“Did anyone see who attacked me?”

Cornelia shook her head. “Felix said it was a simple robbery. Your money was gone. But I think someone doesn’t want you looking into that woman’s death.”

“Felix is right. It had to be robbery. If someone didn’t want me investigating that murder they would have killed me.”

“Perhaps it was meant as a warning. Isn’t it just as I said? You can’t go about unguarded-”

“There’d be no point in trying to frighten me, Cornelia. I could order others to investigate if I felt my life was in danger.”

“Which is what you should have done, John. Why didn’t you go to Felix about it? He would surely have set some of his excubitors to work for you.”

“This is a private matter. I want to keep it private.”

“Is it?” Cornelia snapped. “What is this actress to us?”

“I’ve known her for a long time, or so it seems. Don’t worry, this had nothing to do with Agnes. It was a common street crime.”

“Oh, very common, I am certain. It’s common for high officials to stroll around the city in dark corners, all alone, just inviting someone to sneak up behind them and hit them over the head.”

“Shopkeepers and laborers and clerks walk the streets by themselves,” John pointed out, suppressing a smile at Cornelia’s outburst, realizing her fiery outpouring masked concern for the man she loved. “Besides, I have the advantage of military training.”

“Much good it did you!” Cornelia replied with a slight smile.

John put a hand to the tender spot on his skull. It was badly swollen. When he touched it pain brought tears to his eyes.

He noticed Peter standing in the doorway. There were two of him. Both frowned with disapproval. Both retreated into the hallway when John glared in their direction.

John squeezed his eyes open and shut several times, trying to clear his vision. “If people could creep up behind my back without my realizing it, I would’ve been dead long ago,” he argued.

“You’re not as young as you used to be, John.” Cornelia leaned over and kissed his forehead. “We have spent most of our lives apart. I would quite like for you to stay with me for a while. And don’t forget Europa. It’s time we went to visit her. She’s more important than a mosaic girl, or an actress, or whoever’s death it is you want to avenge, because I can see clearly that’s your intention.”

“It is part of putting things in order, in the world, in my own mind. But I do think of our daughter.”

“Not as much as you’ve lately been thinking about this Agnes.”

John made no reply because she was right.

He saw that Peter had returned to the doorway, looking alarmed. “Master, I told him that you-”

A figure decked out in garish orange robes brushed past the servant.

It was Francio.

Before anyone would remonstrate, he yanked a cloth off the basket he carried, revealing a heap of coiled sausage links. “I heard about your accident, Lord Chamberlain. It’s all over the palace. I immediately thought how disappointed you would be if you were unable to come to my banquet so I have brought the banquet to you. Or rather the sausages at any rate. Lucanian sausages, no less. You can’t find them just anywhere. They’ll have you up and about in no time.”

Cornelia thanked him without mentioning the household had recently dined on the same hearty fare.

John threw off his cover and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The room whirled around. “Lucanian sausages? Where were they purchased, Francio?”

“Where…?”

“Was it from a man called Opilio?”

Francio glanced around in confusion. “Opilio? It might have been. The name sounds familiar.”

“Did he deliver them while Crinagoras was reciting his verse in your kitchen?”

“I’m not certain. It’s possible. He made more than one visit to bring his wares. Now, John, make certain Peter cooks them well. Even eaten alone, they are perfection, and I am certain my guests-”

“Mithra!” John burst out. “That’s where the sausage maker must have heard Zoe’s name. Apparently Opilio still hasn’t told me the whole story.” He stood up and staggered.

“You’re not fit to go out,” Cornelia told him.

“Master,” Peter cried, “let me fetch a physician.”

“No need to consult a physician, John,” Francio said. “Try these delightful morsels. They’ll build up your strength in no time.”

He thrust the basket toward Cornelia, who pushed it back sharply.

Francio lost his grip and the basket fell to the floor. He stood blinking, looking distressed, chains of sausage looped at his boots. “I was only trying to make you feel better,” he said in a hurt tone.

But John was already out the door, closely followed by Cornelia and Peter.