Three for a Letter

Chapter Thirty-three

Choppy waves rocked the boat as it carried Paul, John, and Sunilda back to the mainland. The girl seemed to have recovered with remarkable rapidity from her ordeal and showed them where the boat that had brought Minthe and herself to the island had been hidden.

John did not voice his thought that for Minthe to navigate the dangerous strait between land and island during a thick fog indicated how pressing she considered the mission to be accomplished. The effort must have cost her enough to allow Barnabas to scale the cliff before she and Sunilda could make the climb to its brink. And he, too, and Paul, had risked all in the same mad crossing.

Now the girl was talking of her friendship with Minthe. The men remained silent as she poured out her love for a woman who had treated her as her own child and was now gone forever.

“She has gone to join Gadaric,” she insisted. “You shouldn’t have stopped me following her, Barnabas. And as for you, Lord Chamberlain, I am not at all pleased with your interference.”

John was silent, intent on rowing.

“You see,” the girl went on, “Minthe was the only one who really cared about me. She was very clever, too.”

It was not what Sunilda had said about the woman a short while ago. The girl was, John thought, already constructing a much more pleasing reality for herself. He also sensed that once they reached land, Sunilda would never again speak of the lost woman, so he took his opportunity to inquire how the seemingly magick abduction had been accomplished.

“It was easily done,” the girl replied with a slight smile. “Minthe gave me a sleeping potion to put in Bertrada’s wine. Then I knocked over a stool, threw the bedclothes around, and crept away into the fog without any of the other servants even noticing me leaving.” She finished and sat staring silently at her feet, her face as blank as a block of stone waiting for the chisel.

The journey seemed to John to take much less time than their voyage to the island. The tide must be on the turn, he thought, assisting their passage. Paul, who already looked uneasy at being carried along by the labor of one so highly placed as John, looked more and more disturbed the faster the small boat cut through the water.

“It’s not natural,” he muttered at last. “The current’s all wrong.”

John, concentrating on getting back to solid ground as quickly as possible, did not mention his gratitude for the sea’s assistance in his task, replacing the whale.

As they approached the shore, he could see knots of villagers still clustered on the headland despite the fact that the ceremony had ended. Doubtless they were waiting for Theodora to withdraw to the villa, signaling permission for them to return to the village. Godomar’s service would have concluded by now. John wondered if Peter had found it at all enlightening.

Although from his viewpoint most of the coast road was blanketed with trees and bushes, John’s eye was caught by movement half concealed by the vegetation. He had the impression of a group of people moving purposely toward the headland.

Then his attention was diverted by a thump against the side of their boat. Sunilda let out a brief shriek.

Looking down into the water John saw what it was-the half deflated leather ball that formed the head of the straw man. Seawater had made its painted features run into a leer. The rest of its body was nowhere to be seen.

“Look!” Sunilda pointed up at the looming headland as the keel finally grated on shore nearby. “Bertrada’s waiting for me.”

The faint sound of bells came to their ears. It was very strange, John thought, because they sounded exactly like the ones suspended from Theodora’s litter which, he could clearly see, still sat on the headland. Furthermore, there was no breeze.

In fact, the air had become preternaturally still.

Paul made his religion’s holy sign as he stared out toward the island.

“The goats…” Paul muttered, his superstitious fears seemingly undiminished by his discovery of the creatures’ true nature.

John now realized what he could not have noticed while surrounded by the murmur of the sea and the creaking of the oars. No birds were singing to welcome the dawn.

Sunilda leapt out of the boat and started up the path to the headland, calling out to Bertrada.

John stepped quickly out to follow her, relieved to be standing on solid ground once more.

Except that the ground was trembling slightly and the bells on the empress’ litter were jangling even louder.

John started after Sunilda as, on the headland above, a raw-boned young man with straggling hair leapt onto the seat of the cart carrying Hero’s mechanical musicians.

“The prelate is right. It’s these accursed figures!” the man shouted. “They must be destroyed before a disaster happens!”

There seemed to be a great many people gathered on the headland, more than John had noticed while rowing back. He could distinguish one familiar form, taller than the rest.

John recalled the group he had glimpsed moving up the coast road. Had Godomar decided to lead his congregation forth to do battle with the evils he had railed against?

A grinding roar suddenly filled the air, whether from the mob or from the stronger shaking of the ground or both John could not say.

A familiar voice rose above the clamor. It was Felix, barking orders to his men. A phalanx of excubitors immediately picked up Theodora’s litter and moved swiftly away from the precipice.

The ground shook sluggishly again. The excubitors swayed like drunkards. John saw Livia running beside Theodora’s litter, dragging an hysterical Poppaea. Bertrada, weeping, trotted behind them, accompanied by a perfectly composed Sunilda.

Even so, the child was still John’s responsibility, especially now that Felix was otherwise occupied. John looked around, quickly gauging the situation, and then back toward Bertrada and her charge.

But they had vanished in the general confusion. For now he would have to trust the nursemaid’s good sense. He had no other choice.

“These ceremonies are blasphemous. The Lord is displeased!” the young Jeremiah was telling everyone in a voice rivaling that of Godomar.

By the time John arrived on the headland Zeno was struggling feebly with the young man on the cart while Felix and his remaining excubitors expertly herded the screaming crowd away from the headland.

“We must destroy these machines of Satan!” the malcontent shrieked. He shoved Zeno down, seized one of the lyre-players and began dragging it towards the precipice.

A few steps more and then he had tipped the automaton over. A moaning noise drifted up as the strings of the falling lyre vibrated with the swift passage of air through them on the way down to the sea. The automaton’s companions soon followed.

John glanced around rapidly. The panicked crowd forced back by Felix and his men was streaming back toward the village, although several had left the main mass and were running through the olive grove. More than a few had fallen in their haste.

“Have you seen Sunilda?” John shouted at Zeno as he helped him up.

“They ran away towards the villa, John,” Zeno gasped, looking dazed and as pale as a lily. John made his way there as quickly as he could. As he approached, he could see cracks had opened in its façade. Part of the colonnade had collapsed. Amid shouting and lurid curses, villagers were rushing in and out.

Two red-faced men appeared, dragging the serpent-slayer automaton by its feet. Its head was missing but it blindly and repeatedly shot an arrow that had long since flown elsewhere.

John ducked inside the building, to be greeted by more yelling and the noise of breaking pottery. Between his expression and the blade in his hand those he met in the corridors fell back. Once Felix’s men arrived the place would soon be secured, but his immediate task was to find Sunilda and her nursemaid.

He rapidly made his way to the Ostrogoths’ apartments. Here and there he passed by one or another of Hero’s constructions lying on the floor, making futile repetitive movements like dying men on a battlefield. Several of the mechanical figures had smashed heads. There was no doubt they would never work again.

Rounding a corner he found Hero seated on the floor beside the tilted torso of his wine-dispensing satyr. In his lap was a cloven hoof, in his one hand a goblet. A painfully loud grating emanated from the figure as wine gushed at regular intervals from its wineskin. Hero’s goblet moved mechanically back and forth from the geyser of wine to his mouth. His eyes appeared more glazed than the glass eyes in his creation’s metal face.

John’s quick glance through the Ostrogoths’ rooms showed no sign of the nursemaid or her charge.

The workshop!

He climbed quickly out the broken window and limped rapidly around to the back of the villa where the noise was even more intense.

Crossing the courtyard, he met several villagers, led by the man who had instigated the riot and who would doubtless be parted from his head before too many days had passed. They were pulling the mechanical whale on its wheeled platform.

Zeno, also arrived from the headland, was protesting but to no avail. Standing outside the workshop, he wept at the destruction going on around him.

Another swift search revealed no trace of the missing girls.

Cursing luridly, John made his way quickly through the villa and back to the coast road. He wondered briefly if Theodora was enjoying this unexpected turn of events. By the time he had got back to the headland the rioters had managed to pull the mechanical whale to the edge of the cliff.

He stood well back. Several villagers were clustered near the whale and he was alone.

“Harvest Lord, we have brought another offering,” shouted their leader, who had apparently taken it upon himself to preside over an impromptu ceremony.

As if in reply, the ground vibrated slightly. Its movement evidently upset Hero’s finely balanced machinery, for the mechanical beast’s mouth slowly opened and a watery plume shot up from its broad back.

Then, unexpectedly, a deafening roar filled the air. The whale toppled sideways and a huge crack snaked across the ground as the edge of the headland majestically crumbled away, carrying the beast and its tormentors down to the sea in a black cloud of dust that continued to rise slowly, in a towering pillar, into the clear blue morning sky.

John turned and started back toward the villa.

“Master?”

It was Peter. He emerged from the olive grove, holding Sunilda’s hand. “I found her all alone,” he continued in a quavering voice. “I told her she had to come back to the villa with me but then that mob came running towards us with the whale and we hid so they wouldn’t see us. They were in a very ugly mood.”

The girl regarded John impassively.

“Where is Bertrada?” John asked her.

“Don’t be cross with her, Lord Chamberlain,” the girl replied. “I ran away from her so I could see all the excitement. I was just taking a walk when Peter found me.”

John looked at Peter.

“She was indeed taking a walk, master, just as she says. Right towards the edge of the headland.”

The girl scowled at the elderly servant but said nothing.

“I left Godomar’s service before it concluded,” Peter went on. “He seemed intent on stirring up the congregation and I didn’t want to find myself caught in the middle of a mob. Besides which, well, I wanted to see a bit of the straw man festival. But by the time I arrived, it was over. However, thank the Lord I was just in time for something else, for as I said, I found Sunilda wandering about on her own and who knows what further tragedy might have ensued?”

***

“I must commend you, Zeno. Even the Hippodrome has never seen such thrilling events! The goats were correct after all!” Theodora surveyed the ruined dining room strewn with fragments of painted marine life fallen from its walls. A light coating of plaster dust covered everything, while in the bushes outside the base of a toppled statue could be observed from a window that was no longer quite straight.

“Thank you, highness,” Zeno muttered with a slight bow.

“I expect you to provide a suitable sequel next summer, Zeno. I shall look forward to it.” Although some time had passed since the earthquake Theodora was still flushed with excitement.

She turned her attention to John. “I must also commend you, Lord Chamberlain, for discovering the identity of the murderer. Who would have imagined a crazed old woman could inflict such damage on her superiors? Yet she managed to accomplish two deaths as well as a near-fatal poisoning. One must admire her resourcefulness and ingenuity, I suppose.”

To this strange remark John made no reply.

“My carriage is ready,” Theodora declared. “I shall request the emperor to order the Patriarch to hold a special service at the Great Church on behalf of the village. Justinian will also arrange assistance of a practical nature, of course.” Turning to go, she pointedly remarked to John, “And, yes, I am quite confident that the Great Church will still be standing when I arrive back in Constantinople. The emperor employed only the best architects and the finest building materials.”

After the imperial carriage and its accompanying guards and carts, including one carrying the litter that had unwittingly acted as an oracle, had rumbled away down the coast road, John paced thoughtfully off into the garden. It was an hour or so before Anatolius located him.

“I’ve finally found you, John! Why do you keep running away when people want to talk to you? I have wonderful news to impart!”

“I didn’t see you during the empress’ farewell speech.”

“I wanted to talk to Calyce before she left and managed to persuade her to leave her duties for a while.”

John replied with an inquiring look.

“You’ll be pleased, John. I’ve come to realize the whole notion of any romantic involvement was foolish. Fortunately, Calyce wasn’t too upset.” Anatolius sounded hurt at her implied rejection of his affections. “She tells me that she feels she needs to devote her entire attention to the service of the empress. However, I think the real reason is that she hopes to return to Italy some day whereas I have absolutely no desire to go there. What is Rome these days? Nothing but ruins, so I hear.”

John expressed agreement with the young man’s decision.

Anatolius looked disappointed. “You don’t sound very enthusiastic about my sacrifice, John.”

“My apologies. It’s just that my thoughts are of an exceedingly dark nature.”

Anatolius inquired as to their content.

“It’s a terrible fate for a child to lose a parent, Anatolius,” came the surprising reply. “I’ve been thinking about my daughter. It wasn’t my wish that I never knew her, yet it still saddens me greatly that I didn’t. I can’t help wondering if her life has been poorer for my absence. I hope it hasn’t. And now think of the twins, taken from their family and living far from their homeland. Always moving from place to place, pulled this way and that by servants and ladies-in-waiting, by men of religion, by the emperor and empress. Children without parents need guardians whose first concern is their charges’ welfare, not how to use them to further their own selfish interests and ambitions.”

“I suppose these are the sorts of thoughts you always have after an earthquake?” Anatolius replied in a puzzled attempt to lighten their conversation.

“I’m sorry,” John said wearily. “I’ve been forced to take an extremely hard decision and in considering it, my thoughts began running here and there and ended up galloping in some odd directions indeed. So you won’t be surprised to hear that I went and sat in Zeno’s mithraeum for a while.”

“You asked Lord Mithra to guide you?” Anatolius guessed shrewdly.

John nodded. “Still, it was a struggle to take the right course, and even now…I don’t wish to deprive Poppaea of her mother, so I haven’t had Livia arrested for Briarus’ murder.”

Anatolius could only gape at his friend.

John stopped and looked at the sky, gathering his thoughts from the clouds. “It’s true there’s no proof that could be used against her,” he admitted, “yet my order would suffice to have her detained and there would soon have been a full confession, as we both know. However, if she is correct in her religious beliefs she will answer to her god soon enough and in the meantime her daughter will still have a mother.”

“But why, John? Why would Livia do such a terrible thing?” Anatolius finally managed to blurt out.

“Livia left the basket containing Hero’s hand in the pile of boxes and baskets deposited beside the gate to Castor’s estate. She was afraid that Briarus might have watched her leaving it. Even if he didn’t know who she was, once he was arrested and brought to Zeno’s villa it was quite possible he’d see her at some point and identify her as the person who left the hand there. He had to be silenced as soon as possible. She admitted she killed him when I questioned her just before Theodora and her entourage departed.”

“Ah,” the other replied. “And there I was, convinced that Briarus’ murderer gained entrance to the villa through the malfunctioning automatic doors while an accomplice outside distracted Briarus’ guard. Of course, it wasn’t nearly as complicated as that. It rarely is, is it? Livia was already inside the villa. All she had to do was draw away the guard by creating a disturbance in the garden and then she could strike.”

They had reached the road and stood in silence for a while, staring at the jagged length of new coastline. Birds wheeled and mewled in the cloudy sky above them. The sea was calm, keeping its secrets.

“Something troubles me a great deal, John,” Anatolius finally said. “I can see Livia would have been in a panic to get rid of the murder weapon before she was discovered in possession of it and how this led to Briarus’ death. But what reason could she possibly have had to kill Gadaric?”

John shook his head. “It is best if you know nothing further about this tragic affair, my friend,” he said firmly.